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LETTERS OF CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 




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Letters of 
CASPAR HENRY BURTON, Jr. 



Edited by his brother 
SPENCE BURTON, S.S.J.E. 




Privately Printed 



1921 



:fl52 





,-6 



^3 



COPYRIGHT, ipjl, BY SPENCE BURTON 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 



m '4 1921 
0)CU608987 



TO 

OUR PARENTS 



CONTENTS 

I. HOME (1887-190S) 

I. Early Childhood 3 

II. School 16 

II. HARVARD (190S-1912) 
I. College 27 

II. In Business? 85 

III. The Medical School 87 

HI. THE LABRADOR (1912-1915) 

I. First Impressions ioi 

II. The Second Winter 170 

III. Keeping his Word 189 

IV. THE WAR (1915-1919) 
I. The Hector Munro Ambulance Corps 199 

FLANDERS 

II. The Tommy 208 

EPSOM, OXFORD, EDINBURGH, O.T.C. AT 
OXFORD 

III. The Subaltern 221 

PEMBROKE DOCK, FRANCE, HOSPITALS, READ- 
ING, FERMOY 



viii CONTENTS 

IV. The A.E.F. 323 

LONDON, FRANCE, U.S.A. 



V. HOME 

I. For a Year (1919-1920) 361 

II. For Ever 381 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

Caspar Henry Burton, Jr., 4th King's (Liver- 
pool) Regt. Frontispiece 

Cap, aged Three Years To face page i6 

Caspar, aged Seventeen Years 28 

In the Woods 70 

With the French Fusiliers Marins 200 

Pte. C. Burton, 8908 A Company, 29TH (R) 
Batt., Royal Fusiliers 216 / 

2ND Lieut. Caspar Burton, King's (Liverpool) 
Regt. 226 

1ST Lieut. Caspar Burton, U.S.A., and Mick 326 



I 

HOME 

1 887-1 905 



LETTERS OF 
CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 

I 

EARLY CHILDHOOD 

Caspar Henry Burton, Jr., was born in Cincinnati, 
Ohio, on July 1 1, 1887, and at once began to make friends. 
That was his chief occupation throughout his life. Never 
was a life-work more unconsciously undertaken, more con- 
sistently pursued, or more successfully accomplished. He 
did it intuitively, inevitably, automatically; therefore he 
had no idea that he had an occupation, and so in the latter 
years of his life he habitually thought of himself as a fail- 
ure. Because I believe in the Communion of Saints I am 
confident that he is going on gladdening his friends, old 
and new. "These are they who have come out of great 
tribulation and have washed their robes and made them 
white in the Blood of the Lamb." "I call you no longer 
servants, but friends." Caspar will be glad to learn that 
life in eternity is on the basis he understood in time. He 
will enjoy the friendship of Him who said, "Greater love 
hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for 
his friends." 

Caspar's talent for making friends began, I suspect, be- 
fore his birth. His mother and he were already good 
friends by the time he consented to take up an existence 
separate from hers. They never got much farther apart 
than that. He did not look like her, he did not seem like 
her, but he did inherit from her a restless, roving spirit, a 



4 LETTERS OF 

quick wit, a keen interest in people, his talent for friend- 
ship, and a superlative ability for abandon^ for "going the 
limit," for throwing himself overboard, for losing his life 
to save it. Whatever interested Caspar, in that Mother 
developed an absorbing interest, and when his interests 
changed, hers changed with his. This she did not only 
with Caspar, but also with Father and me. One result was, 
as a shrewd physician remarked, "She is on the verge of 
nervous prostration from trying to keep step with three 
grown men all with different gaits." But as Caspar re- 
plied, "She is too busy to prostrate." She kept up with 
him always. They never seemed to exhaust the interests 
they had in common. They never got talked out. I doubt 
if there were any limits to the subjects they discussed, but 
I recall to mind mostly talks about plans, people, books 
and religion. 

Father and he were each other's "best friend." I doubt 
if a father and a son have ever been more intimate than 
they were throughout the thirty-two years of Caspar's 
life. He bore his father's name. Caspar sometimes thought 
that was rather a mistake, especially when Father unin- 
tentionally opened some of his bills! Save for that slight 
inconvenience (to them both) there was nothing to be 
said against Caspar being Caspar Henry Burton, Jr. He 
was that in every sense of the word. He looked like his 
father, and when he was little they seemed temperamen- 
tally alike. It was later that extravagant and volcanic char- 
acteristics, Spence and MacLeod family traits, began to 
develop in Caspar. They were all in Mother, but she had 
never had a good chance to let them loose, for at eighteen 
she had preferred to marry a Burton. That means staying 
put. Not being married to a Burton, but merely being 
partly one, Caspar did not "stay put." His letters tell that 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 5 

story. When he was born, however, he was a baby edition 
of his father. He developed the same even temper, friendly 
smile, gentle voice and comfortable ways that put him in 
a position like his father's — above correction. No doubt 
that was a comfortable position for him, but it meant diffi- 
culties for those who tried to bring him up. I have an idea 
that Father did not need much " bringing up." I knew too 
well his mother's adoring love for him and her tact in deal- 
ing with us all to imagine that she had many "scenes" 
with her son. Also I remember a stock phrase with her 
servants, "I wouldn't like to bother Mr. Harry." That 
system of "natural development" worked well with 
Caspar Henry Burton, but Caspar Henry Burton, Jr., 
seemed to his brother to need other methods. He did not 
so much need bringing up as bringing down, off that com- 
fortable plane above correction where his amiability placed 
him. Certainly his father never made any attempts (visi- 
ble to the naked eye of an older brother) to bring him up or 
to bring him down. They were too good friends for any 
such unpleasant relationship. Nothing altered that. No 
matter what Caspar did throughout his life, they always 
remained "chums." They played endless games together, 
from "This Little Pig" in his cradle to bridge on his death- 
bed. Caspar grew up playing games with Dad; and when 
they were not playing golf, billiards or cards together, 
they were riding, shooting, fishing or talking baseball, golf 
or the woods. They liked to do the same things and to talk 
about them. Also they enjoyed just being together with- 
out saying anything. At home they were happy if they 
read together in the same room. In the woods, where they 
both preferred to be, they often spent hours together on the 
trail or in a canoe with very few words passing between 
them. They did not need to express their love in words; in 



6 LETTERS OF 

fact they were both shy about doing so. I doubt if Father 
said anything when he first held his infant namesake in his 
arms. It was fitting that, during the last three hours of 
Caspar's life on earth, while his heart pounded itself to 
pieces like a ship on the rocks, he should have been almost 
silent in his father's arms. In their silent love for one 
another, culminating in that long embrace of dying, there 
is an echo from Calvary, "Father, into Thy hands I com- 
mend my spirit." 

For me Caspar was, from the very first, a lightning rod 
to attract my persistent passion for planning. He never 
seemed to mind being struck by my bolts. My plans hit 
him, found a perfect conductor, and were dispersed into 
the earth without having burnt up the house or killing 
any one in it. That he seldom adopted my plans for him 
only gave me the fun of making new ones. My imagina- 
tion devised countless dramatic scenes with him. Of all 
things he abhorred a scene and consequently avoided those 
I had planned. He did that even in his birth. For months 
I had been planning for my brother or sister. I was es- 
pecially engrossed in the lining of the mahogany cradle, 
which had been bought for Father, with tufts of pink silk. 
I was only five years old then, but I had it all arranged in 
my own mind how I myself should lay the Baby on that 
pink silk. I had a little scene all planned. The Baby fooled 
me then, and always. My Grandmother Burton took me 
off that hot July morning to my uncle's place to play. Im- 
agine my surprise to have a little girl from next door tell 
me, "You have a baby brother at your house." Surprise, 
annoyance, delight, all began at once and never subsided. 
For thirty-two years Caspar was always surprising me. 
Sometimes the surprises were pleasant, sometimes not; 
but life was never dull. Just as I knew he was going to be 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 7 

born, but was surprised by the event; so, as I travelled 
westward on the Eve of the Annunciation, 1920, knowing 
that he was dying, I was surprised by the telegram that 
told me he was dead. A neighbor announced the former 
to me and a Western Union messenger handed me the news 
of the latter. During the years in between he provided me 
with a succession of surprises, annoyances and delights. 
Now it seems as if the orchestra had stopped and the lights 
had been turned out — an empty theatre. I have the sen- 
sation of longing to see the same performance all over 
again, comic and tragic parts alike. That play is not to be 
given again; but I continue to plan for to-morrow, when 
the curtain will rise, with him in a much better role. 

Soon after his birth he began to make friends with me, 
or at least I liked to think so as he would grip one of my 
fingers. From that time on he stuck pretty close to me as 
to a friend, but never as to an older brother who had any 
authority over him. If I tried to manage him in any way 
he would simply howl. This was purely protest, not anger 
or pain, but he certainly could protest longer without stop- 
ping for breath than any child I have ever seen (or heard). 
I used to be ashamed of that, for I soon began to develop 
the now confirmed habit of boasting of my brother. That 
was due partly to admiration and partly to conceit. I felt 
that he was really part of me. So by bragging about him I 
was indirectly boasting about myself. So when he howled 
I felt ashamed for myself and blushed all up and down my 
back. This shame I felt acutely when he was baptized. I 
had boasted broadcast in the Sunday School of my brother. 
The christening took place at a Children's Service at 
Grace Church, Avondale. There I stood by the font, be- 
fore all the other children, while Caspar yelled continu- 
ously. Not even our most highly paid soprano ever made as 



8 LETTERS OF 

much noise in that church as Caspar did the day he was 
baptized. He developed other methods of protesting, but 
he always found "renouncing the devil and all his works" 
painful. Not doing things, what he called "negative vir- 
tues," cramped his style and he had little use for them. 
With my plans in that direction he would have little or 
nothing to do. As he grew older he devised a method of 
protest, pleasanter for himself than that of crying, but 
rather more annoying to me — merely leaving with a 
friendly smile, but with no ear for me to talk into. He just 
hung up the receiver! 

With my plans for doing things, "positive virtues" in 
his mind, he would from the first have a lot to do. If I pro- 
posed any kind of adventure, in the way of a game, a risk, 
or in fact any form of generosity, he would always go me 
one better. For instance, I proposed that he go to New- 
foundland for a few months, and he stayed three years. 
When I saw he was determined to get into the War I 
hustled to have an ambulance job ready for him by the 
time the ice broke in the summer of 191 5 and he could get 
away from The Labrador. He " stuck " my non-combatant 
job only three months and enlisted as a Tommy in in- 
fantry. 

I seem to have forgotten that I entitled this section 
"Early Childhood," but it is impossible to make Caspar 
"stay put" in time or space. He made fun of Victorian 
biographies that began with the weather on the day of the 
hero's birth and proceeded with the characteristics of an- 
cestors, the cunning sayings and cute tricks of the hero's 
childhood. He never had tried to write even a memoir of 
some one he loved. 

As I said, he began making friends at his birth. I have 
tried to sketch the various characteristics of his friendships 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 9 

with Mother, Father and me. We formed the inner circle 
of friends waiting for him, but we were not alone. His two 
grandmothers were there to surround him with love and to 
vie with us in spoiling the jolly baby and the amusing little 
boy. 

He was born in Grandmother Burton's house, where 
Father and I were born before him, and there he died. It 
was always home. For a few years we lived in a rented 
house around the corner, and there Grandmother Spence 
lived with us a large part of every year. When she loved, 
she loved extravagantly. She believed you could not do \ 
enough for any one you loved. It was with such a love she 
loved Caspar. He did not care to be read to very much, as 
I did, so he was not as much with her as I was. He usually 
played in the back yard just outside her window. She was 
usually in her room, reading, writing and praying. On her 
desk she kept a bottle of Pond's Extract and soft bandages. 
These were in almost daily use. One minute Caspar would 
startle her by shouting to her from the branch of a tree just 
opposite her window. The next minute there would be a 
howl and Grandma rushing downstairs and out into the 
yard to pick up Caspar and apply the Pond's Extract and 
bandages. How he ever lived thirty-two years I can't im- 
agine! It was inevitable that he should be killed rather 
than die of disease. He habitually attempted things be- 
yond the powers of his little body. It could not do the 
things his spirit demanded of it. If he were climbing a tree 
he usually climbed too high or tried to swing to a branch 
too far away. We built houses, platforms in the trees, and 
lived in them like monkeys. I was almost six years older 
than he, and so with a longer reach. Besides I did not take 
chances. He did. If I fell it was usually into a sand-pile or 
a flower-bed. He usually hit cracked rock or barbed wire. 



lo LETTERS OF 

It is not mere chance that, while we are both in the thirties, 
I am fat and comfortable and he is dead of his wounds. He 
had plenty of them before his faithful "first, aid," his 
Grandmother Spence, died. He was six years old then. 

The first three or four years of his life we lived at the old 
house with Grandmother Burton. There he had plenty of 
boys and young men to play with him. Her other grand- 
sons. Bob, "Little Harry," and Clarence Burton, lived 
there then, for their mother had to live in Colorado for her 
health, and their father, our Uncle Steve, travelled back 
and forth. We all loved "the kid" and enjoyed playing 
with him, both because he was so jolly and because he 
didn't want to be babied, and never tattled. I think that, 
all his earliest fun being with boys and men, he acquired 
his lifelong habit of always turning to boys and men for 
his fun. 

Grandmother Burton adored him as a miniature replica 
of her " faultless" son. He presented no problems to her 
mind, for wasn't he exactly like his father? He didn't 
often give her a chance to read to him, and her amusements 
were too mild to ensnare him. Driving to town in the coupe 
or to the park in the landau seemed to him time wasted 
from the real occupation of life, play. They were, however, 
good friends. I don't believe there was ever a day, even 
after we moved to "the little house," that he didn't run in 
to see his Grandmother Burton. She never found fault 
with him, and there was usually a stick of peppermint 
candy as a bonus. 

His devoted friends and playmates were the servants. 
Nursemaids were no terror to him. He could cajole them 
into letting him do anything. His usual method was to do 
it first and then escape punishment by pure charm. I re- 
member when Mother was trying to scold him once, when 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. ii 

he was just a baby, he patted her hair, saying, "Money got 
pretty hair." How could one correct a child like that? I 
think I am the only person who ever spanked him. The 
result was not satisfactory — for either of us. 

The servants frankly made no effort to correct him. He 
was something to be enjoyed like sunshine. No wonder, 
then, that he enjoyed being with them. 

Mother, by a stroke of genius, had Ben, a shiftless, loyal, 
colored choreman, look after Caspar. Ben originally did 
chores for all the neighbors. He was like "Genesis" in 
"Seventeen." Gradually Mother appropriated him, body 
and soul. I suppose he had other duties than tending to 
the furnace, cutting the grass, and doing the heavy house- 
cleaning. Caspar never suspected that Ben was his nurse. 
He used to beg Ben to get through his work and "come 
play." Ben was too clever to let Caspar know that taking 
care of him was his real job. To Caspar's entreaties Ben's 
soft voice would reply, "You, Cappie, go'n play with 
Spencey. I got clean yo' Ma's pretties." That meant all 
morning cleaning the drawing-room, and Caspar and I 
putting up with each other as second best. Ben even went 
away with us summers to the seashore. Immediately all 
the boys wanted to play with us. He was a genial and re- 
sourceful human. As Caspar never suspected that Ben's 
work was to take care of him, so I never suspected that Ben 
was to take care of me also. By the time Caspar and I 
woke up to this fact we were old enough to admire Mother 
all the more for her cleverness. Besides, Ben had given us 
a better time than any boys without a Ben had had. 

I used to have fits of righteous indignation over the way 
Ben (and everybody else) was "spoiling" Caspar. One 
thing I objected to especially was the way Ben would un- 
dress him. Caspar would pitch himself on the bed and carry 



12 LETTERS OF 

on an animated conversation with Ben, while Ben took first 
one garment and then another off him. Caspar remained 
supine. Ben would even hold him up on one hand while he 
slipped off Caspar's breeches and drawers. He probably- 
dressed Caspar the same way; I can't remember. Certainly 
Caspar always wore his clothes, especially his hat, in Ben's 
slouchy, darky way until the British Army got hold of him 
and made him a " smart " ofiicer. He walked like Ben, too, 
not bothering to lift up his heels. Yet there was a jaunti- 
ness about him, even in his slouchiness, that gave him more 
charm than he would have had had he taken the trouble to 
put all the pieces of the same suit of clothes on at the same 
time. 

It was Ben also who fixed on him his nickname, "Cap." 
I believe "Cappie" was originally Caspar's baby attempt 
to say "Caspar." This was contracted by Ben to "Cap." 
"Cap" he remained to us all. 

Ben's death, when Caspar was still a small boy, was his 
first real sorrow. He loved Ben as his chum. Of course the 
boys in the neighborhood were his friends and companions, 
but not in the way Ben was. Caspar wept bitterly, but he 
had no time for protracted mourning. Besides, he loved all 
the other servants, especially Tom, the Irish coachman; 
Emily, who has been everything and everybody in our 
family; Tillie, Grandma Spence's maid; and Mary Kelly, 
Grandma Burton's maid. They were all in our family 
when Caspar was born and they were all still with us at his 
burial. Their love of Caspar was as real as his parents* 
love of him, and he gave them all his love. They are loving 
and belovedjmembers of our family. Caspar always thought 
of them and treated them as such. They were always num- 
bered amongst his best friends and they knew it. Each of 
them, in different ways, took care of him during the months 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 13 

of his dying and loved an excuse to go into his room. They 
didn't need one, for Caspar counted on seeing each of them 
every day, from Tom's early visit to make up the fire to 
Tillie's last visit at night with a pitcher of ice water. In 
case Emily, whose work was downstairs, didn't appear for 
a few hours, Caspar would ask with a tone of annoyance, 
"Where is Emily.'' What does she do with herself?" 

When Mother would send for her Caspar would greet 
her with, "Hello, Em ! Where have you been keeping your- 
self?" Then they would talk like old cronies or hardly say 
anything to each other, like the lifelong friends they were. 

All four months he was in bed Tillie hardly left the stairs 
outside his door. There she sat hoping there was something 
she could do for him. He used to say, "Tillie is on perma- 
nent guard duty." 

I remember once, when he thought he had grown up, 
hearing his voice in the bathroom, saying to the laundress, 
who had gone in to get soiled towels, "Get out of here. 
I 'm taking a bath." "Law, me, Cappie, you ain't no treat 
to me," came the soft reply. After that I don't think Cas- 
par ever tried to be "grown up" with the old servants. 

As new servants came he made friends with all of them 
and won their love and devotion. Margaret, the cook, who 
was part of the family by the time he went to college, con- 
sidered my persistent opinion that Caspar had no palate a 
challenge. To the end of his life she never relaxed her de- 
voted efforts to "feed him up." She fought physicians and 
nurses alike to be allowed to cook him food he could and 
would eat. She and all the servants would do anything for 
him. He asked them to do almost nothing for him and 
always thanked them as he would have thanked a friend. 

He did all this instinctively, but he had a theory on the 
subject also. He gauged the breeding and the manners of 



14 LETTERS OF 

people by the way they treated servants. It was his acid 
test as to whether a man were a gentleman. Shortly before 
he died he was speaking to me of a rather elegant young 
man whom we both liked. I remember his ending the con- 
versation with, "You think he's a gentleman until you j 
hear him speak to a servant. Wow! If you want to like 
him, don't hear him speak to his chauffeur." 

With the servants, with the family, with all his friends 
he was frank. He was never successful as a deceiver. When 
he tried he failed ludicrously. One summer evening, when 
he was hardly more than a baby, he conceived a great de- 
sire to trip me up. I don't know what I was doing that an- 
noyed him, probably "steps" in a dance of some imaginary 
play I was rehearsing — a form of amusement with me that 
he always thought silly. In any case he kept crawling 
after me on the lawn and grabbing my ankles. With a kick 
I rolled him over. Wails and howls ! When Mother picked 
him up with, "What's the matter. Darling?" she was told, 
between sobs, "Spence Burton kicked me." Then came my 
turn to explain. " But why were you tripping Spence up ? " 
Mother asked. "I wasn't tripping him up. I was just see- 
ing how his shoe-strings were tied." 

Caspar was never more clever at deceit than that, and 
soon gave it up, even as a defensive weapon. One result 
was an habitual lack of effort to conceal his faults or his 
failures. As he grew to manhood he developed a genius 
for putting his worst foot foremost. Certainly his left hand 
never knew the good that his right hand did. That was 
glorious, but it was annoying that the general public 
should know whatever evil either of his hands did. He was 
willing to have it so. 

Another result of his frankness, of his neglect and ab- 
horrence of deceit was his readiness to confess. He wrote 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 15 

almost unbelievable confessions to his father, his mother 
and his brother. He seemed to have a passion for letting 
us know of what he considered his worst failures. Value 
them ? Of course we did, almost more than any other token 
of his confidence and love. Naturally we have omitted 
from this volume all such letters. 

I must quote, however, from one of these self-abasing 
letters he wrote to me. It reveals more clearly than I could 
describe his complete freedom from deceit and conceit: "I 
will not play the regular game of saying that I try, but 
lose out. I try sometimes; then I win. This principle 
doesn't apply to all sin. A man can't become perfect by 
trying. Something I believe can be accomplished; but if a 
man could kill selfishness first he could then gather in as 
many little sins as he wanted to, but even then his friends 
could tell him of a lot." 

How did he look as a little child? I thought him beauti- 
ful. I believe every one thought he was handsome, for I 
remember how proud I used to be when people on the 
street would stare at him and whisper, "Look at that 
child's hair." It was glorious. A tangle of little yellow 
curls, like an aureole of sunshine. It was charming in itself 
and it had the added beauty-value of hiding his worst 
feature, his ears. They stuck out wing and wing, even 
worse than mine. He always joked about them. When in 
college he became the founder and president of what he 
called "The Spinnaker Club." For membership only men 
could qualify whose ears fitted them to "sail before the 
wind." 

In looking at Caspar, either as child, boy or man, the 
feature one always noticed was his brown eyes. They re- 
vealed him. They danced with fun, glowed with friendli- 
ness, and, in repose, reflected his thoughts. 



II 

SCHOOL 

Caspar's curls were cut off for him to go to school. He was 
five then, and it was not really school, only a kindergarten. 
Fortunately that lasted only a year. He knew it was not 
real work, and so did no work at all. As play he thought it 
was silly. He could devise much more amusing games at 
home. Its only advantage in his eyes was that there were 
more human beings there than in our immediate neighbor- 
hood with whom he could make friends. 

The next year, when he was six, he went to the Avondale 
Public School. There he found hundreds of potential new 
friends and busied himself making real friends of them. He 
had not a snobbish instinct or thought then or ever. He 
was not aware of class lines. To him they were like the 
equator and parallels of latitude; they were invisible lines, 
even if they encircled the earth. People were just people to 
Caspar, and, at the age of six, all of them creatures to be 
liked. He treated them all just the same, as later in the 
Army he treated both his CO. and his orderly just the 
same, as his friends. 

Recess was the part of school he liked. Then he could 
play with his friends without the annoyance of lessons and 
discipline. 

Lessons did not bother him much. He was quick-witted, 
and so had no trouble in learning and reciting his lessons. 
They were just another stupid thing that grown-ups in- 
sisted must be done. He did not connect them with life. 
He just endured them, and "got by" with as little incon- 
venience to himself as possible. That attitude of mind to- 




Ty^^(y, .^-^[ye^ t/y/u^^-ey tjt^^ci^^ 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 17 

ward his lessons persisted. He never thought them worth 
while in themselves until he went to Harvard. Professor 
Barrett Wendell was, I believe, the first teacher he ever 
had who made him appreciate that "lessons" as well as 
play could be fun. Such an esoteric conception never 
dawned on him at the Avondale Public School. 

If his lessons did not bother him, school discipline cer- 
tainly did. After he had recited he settled down to fooling 
while the other children recited. As the classes were large, 
and as he did not have to study hard to keep up, he had 
three years, in that school, of almost continual fooling. 
Consequently punishments were frequent, almost habitual. 
He took the.m as part of the game and bore no malice. Even 
the teachers, who had to try to keep him in order and who 
had to punish him, loved him. Three of them, who are still 
teaching there, remember him with affection and smiles, 
and are now proud to have been his teachers. They, with 
the present Principal of the Avondale School, arranged a 
memorial service and planted a tree in his memory on Ar- 
bor Day, shortly after his death. Hundreds of pupils in 
the school took part in this service and planted an oak in 
his memory. I like the words of their program: "We have 
gathered together to-day to do honor to the memory of 
Caspar Henry Burton, Jr., who gave his life for his ideals 
in the cause of honor and patriotism." 

Caspar was wasting his time at the Avondale Public 
School. The classes were too large for him to receive as 
much individual attention as he needed. So, when he was 
nine years old, he was sent to the private school where I 
was, Franklin School. I was then doing High School work 
there preparing for Harvard. Caspar went into the Lower 
School, for the little boys. I enjoyed having him there. We 
usually went to school together in the morning, and at re- 



i8 LETTERS OF 

cess I was always proud to see how popular he was with 
"the kids," and how the older boys took to him because he 
was such "a plucky Httle devil." 

Even there, with small classes and much individual at- 
tention, Caspar did not bother to do any more than just 
get his lessons. Play was life. Saturday was the real day 
in the week. When it came he always ran from his bed to 
Mother's room. When he had got into bed with her he 
would say, "Please help me decide which plan is more fun 
for to-day. I have so many things I want to do." 

That was entirely characteristic of him throughout his 
life — "so many things I want to do" — boundless energy 
and enthusiasm, but yet an inability to come to a decision. 
He was like a car with a powerful motor and a defective 
steering-gear. 

The last letter he ever wrote tells this same story, with 
its unwritten appeal to his mother to help him decide. 

He had no difficulty in deciding to escape routine and 
discipline if he could, and put in their place, adventure and 
fun. This instinct led to the cause of his first letter. It was 
dictated to Mother. This is her account of it: 

"One morning when he was ten years old, he walked 
into my sitting-room, looking very white and said, 'Mom, 
I have been sent away from school and can't go back until 
you write a note explaining why I wasn't at school for 
three days.' 

"I said, 'But, Darling, where were you?' 

"'You see. Mom, there was a circus near the school and 
I played hookey and drove the monkey-wagon in the pa- 
rade. I had bad luck the last day for Mr. White ^ saw me.' 

"You may imagine my surprise! I said, 'What can I 
write ? ' 

1 Mr. White and Mr. Sykes were the principals of the school. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 19 

"Caspar's face brightened up and he said, *I 've thought 
of that. Say, "Dear Mr. Sykes, Caspar played hookey for 
three days and drove the monkey-wagon at the circus. He 
had a splendid time and is now ready to take his punish- 
ment."' I signed my name and added, ' Dictated by Cas- 
par.' He was kept in for an hour every day for the rest of 
the term and was quite happy about it." 

That letter sums up Caspar's school-days. It also reveals 
lifelong characteristics. 

The routine and the discipline of school were irksome to 
him. He never saw the point of them, in school or after- 
wards. Routine was dull and discipline was damnable. 
They were to be endured only until a way of escape were 
open to him. The circus provided just the excuse he 
wanted. Here was an adventure splendid enough and fun 
keen enough for his nature. Who could choose grammar 
and arithmetic when a circus parade and a monkey-wagon 
were within reach? I am certain he had not a moment of 
doubt or a qualm of conscience. Thank God he saw life 
in its true proportions. 

How he got the job of driving the monkey-wagon I have 
forgotten, but I can guess that before the first parade he 
had made friends with the circus drivers and managers, 
had proved to them that he could drive six ponies, and that 
his tiny body, in a scarlet coat and brass buttons, was just 
what they needed on the gilt seat of that gaily painted van. 

He could do anything with animals. He made them his 
friends, and, like his human friends, they would do any- 
thing for him. He began to ride, as I did, before he could 
remember it, on the front of Dad's saddle. He was usually 
to be found in the stable, with Tom and the horses. An old 
pony, Betsy, seemed determined to live on until every 
Burton boy had learned to ride. She had been bought for 



20 LETTERS OF 

Father when he was a boy. By the time Caspar came 
along she was a fat old lady, of mythical age, and "sot in 
her ways." No one could manage her, but any of us could 
climb up onto her, go where she wanted to go, roll off when 
she wished us to, and exhaust ourselves trying to make her 
gallop. She would do this only when headed for home, 
"homeing," as we called it. Then she gave us the sensation 
of riding a two-year-old to victory. Caspar soon gradu- 
ated from Betsy to my pony, Franchette, and soon he had 
a little chestnut of his own, whom he named Ben. No one 
horse could keep pace with his spirits. At the Riding Club 
he rode a string of horses almost every day. He rode so 
well and was so light that members of the Club asked to 
have him exercise their horses. M. Leon de Gisbert, the 
riding-master, became like a second father to Caspar. He 
and Madame de Gisbert made Caspar feel that their home 
was his. Certainly he treated it as such. He almost lived 
there. M. de Gisbert, a retired French cavalry officer, 
really taught him to ride. He taught him also all the French 
that Caspar would take the trouble to learn. I don't think 
there was any one outside his family whom Caspar cared 
for more than de Gisbert, "Prof." as Caspar called him. 
The thirty years' difference in their ages did not count. 
They seemed to grow up together. From him Caspar 
learned not only how to ride, but also how to know and to 
care for horses. While still tiny Caspar rode with him at 
the head of parades through the streets of the city. He 
took Caspar to the races. Wherever there were horses there 
Caspar was with de Gisbert. I was also with them, until I 
went to college, Caspar was twelve then. If we had spent 
our time playing games we could not at that time have 
been companions, but as we rode whenever we were not in 
school we could have our fun together. Of course we rode. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 21 

too, with Father and Mother, both at the Riding Club and 
out in the country. Those are happy memories, all four of 
us riding together. It made us more intimate as a family 
than any one thing we ever did together. Through his rid- 
ing Caspar got to know all their friends, and promptly 
made them his own. In Caspar's mind people were not 
divided into generations, any more than they were divided 
into classes. Older people were fond of him and he of them. 
He was intimate with them without being "fresh," polite 
to them without being deferential; in fact he treated them 
as friends. It was the only human relationship he under- 
stood. 

Caspar came into his own at the Riding Club amateur 
circuses. Every year he was a star performer. He could 
do anything in the ring. Any form of riding or driving was 
easy for him. Also he was in great demand by amateur 
acrobats to toss about. He was light, strong, sure-footed 
and quick-witted. On one occasion there was real trouble 
in the family. Father vetoed a trapeze stunt in which Cas- 
par was to be swung by the ankles from the roof of the 
building and come up with a jerk a few feet from the ground. 
Of course. Father was right, but I don't believe Caspar ever 
thought so. 

This seems a long digression from the topic in hand, 
Caspar's love of animals; but one cannot think of Caspar 
without horses and dogs. He was always with them at the 
Riding Club and at home. 

When he was born we had in the house an Italian grey- 
hound. Beauty. She was as agile in body as he was in spirit. 
She would leap over anything into his cradle. Kate, his 
devoted old colored nurse, strove vainly "To keep Beauty 
off the Baby." It was not to be; Caspar had to have a dog 
literally on him. As soon as he was able to walk, Father 



22 LETTERS OF 

gave us a couple of Llewellyn setter pups, Don and Dandy. 
I cheated Caspar Into choosing the less attractive puppy, 
Don; but, having adopted him, Caspar was loyal to him 
and maintained against all expert opinion that his was the 
better dog. Ben always had some old cur, like " Clematis " 
in "Seventeen," which he declared was "a coon houn'." 
To all Ben's "coon houn's" Caspar was devoted and talked 
of their points as if he were trying to make a sale. 

To deal adequately with Caspar's dogs would make a 
small book itself. He always had one or more, and they 
influenced his life. He even owed his desire to be a physi- 
cian indirectly to a dog. He was bitten by a mad dog, went 
to the Pasteur Institute in New York, and there met the 
physician who first interested him in medicine. In the 
woods he always had dogs for birds and for deer. In 
the North he travelled and lived with his dogs. Out of 
the War he brought Mick, and with the help of Mick's 
exuberant devotion he kept up his cheerfulness and fun 
during the four long months of his dying. 

If one thinks of Caspar one thinks of him with animals. 
My mind reverts with unclouded joy to the picture of him 
playing hookey from school to drive that monkey-wagon in 
the circus parade. That he was "caught" only seemed to 
him hard luck. He ofi^ered no excuses and manufactured 
no lies. Never in his life did he say or think he had been 
"led astray" or "influenced by bad companions." He 
despised such excuses. Neither were lies part of his defen- 
sive armor. "He had a splendid time and is now ready to 
take his punishment." So he felt as a schoolboy and so he 
felt on his deathbed. He knew that he had had no right 
physically to "carry on" after he was wounded, but he 
knew that he had done a splendid thing and he was ready 
to take his punishment smilingly to the end. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 23 

His punishment at school was to stay in an hour after 
school every day for the rest of the term and memorize po- 
etry. At that time and throughout his years at Franklin 
School he committed to memory miles of Shakespeare and 
the Victorian poets. That was the only real education he 
seemed to get there. He did not have to study to pass, and 
therefore he was satisfied just to pass. Lessons were a mere 
interruption in school life. He "made" football teams, the 
school fraternity and everything there was to be "made." 
He spent nine years there, from nine to eighteen; in fact, 
except for the two principals and Frank, the old colored 
janitor whom Caspar loved, Caspar became "the oldest 
living inhabitant of Franklin School." 

As the time for him to take his preliminary entrance ex- 
aminations for Harvard drew near it looked as if he could 
not possibly pass them. Mother had an illumination. In- 
stead of keeping him at his desk after school she took him 
out of school, to the disgust of his teachers, and brought 
him on to Cambridge to visit me. It worked. After spend- 
ing a week with me in Claverly Hall Caspar decided that 
Harvard was worth working for. From that time on there 
was never any doubt about his getting into Harvard. 



II 

HARVARD 

I 905-1 91 2 



COLLEGE 

Caspar passed his preliminary examinations for Harvard 
with flying colors, decided that all examinations were easy; 
consequently did no work during his last year in school and 
failed his final examinations. His surprise was acute. He 
felt Harvard had made a mistake, but soon learned that 
Harvard was immovably convinced that he, rather than 
his examiners, had made the mistake. 

At that time I was in Italy and remember well the let- 
ters about this family tragedy. They could not join me in 
Europe because Caspar had "flunked his exams." Caspar 
could not go to Camp because he had to be tutored. This 
domestic catastrophe Caspar merely used as an oppor- 
tunity to make new friends. 

He spent that summer of 1905 in Cambridge with the 
famous tutor, "The Widow" Nolen. In Mr. Nolen Cas- 
par discovered not only a real friend, but also a royal road 
to passing examinations. 

In more senses than one Mr. Nolen prepared him for 
college. In his "select establishment" Caspar met the 
hand-picked blossoms of the expensive schools that say 
they prepare boys for Harvard. He found these irrespon- 
sible youths entirely congenial. Some of them were like 
Caspar, clever and care- free; some of them were stupid and 
sporty; all of them were generous and delightful compan- 
ions. With them as his intimate friends, Caspar romped 
into Harvard. 

Just before college opened he wrote this letter. It is 
characteristic of his summer with "The Widow" and of 
his joyous attitude of mind on entering Harvard. 



28 LETTERS OF 

Cambridge, Sept. 21, 1905. 
Dear Mother, 

After dinner I went to "The Widow's" and tutored. A 
man named Brown, his Chemistry man, tutored me. He 
should be made President of the United States or some 
other high position. He literally rained facts on me; he 
stupefied me. It was like reading a dictionary. However, 
he had a bad cold and would have to stop to " spit." When 
he stopped I felt like a prize-fighter when the umpire yells 
"time." However, some of his remarks stuck, I think, but 
from the faces of the boys who were there I don't think 
they learned much. He told me that he thought I would 
surely pass. But I am afraid I will explode something and 
kill a professor or two. However, I have decided that I 
shall wound myself too so that they will pity me. ... I went 
down to the field with Bruce ^ to watch the football prac- 
tice. It was fine. 

Yours lovingly. 

Cap. 

Caspar and Bruce (or "Lamb") were together at school 
in Cincinnati and were intimate friends always. It seems 
significant that the first classmate Caspar mentions in his 
college letters is the devoted friend who came to see 
Caspar every day during the fourteen weeks of his last 
illness. 

Friends, fun and humorous comments on studies and 
teachers make up most of Caspar's letters written in col- 
lege. He always said he loathed writing letters. Probably 
he did, for even some of his best friends say they never re- 
ceived a letter from him. His letters were about them. He 

^ Bruce J. Graydon, Harvard, '09, became a second lieutenant of infantry, 
U.S. Army. 




t^/^'t/ee'n/ r^le^4d 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 29 

enjoyed his friends when he was with them and did not 
bother about them when he was away from them, or rather 
when he was with other friends. 

This frame of mind and real dislike for writing letters 
makes it the more surprising and praiseworthy that when- 
ever he was away from Mother he wrote to her frequently, 
at times almost daily. Had he written to his friends this 
volume could give a truer picture of him. It does, however, 
reveal Caspar. He wrote to his family about his friends. 
It is with that fact in mind that we have made the follow- 
ing selections and excerpts from among his college letters. 

The men he chose as his friends even in those jolly, care- 
less years were men who, like himself, had the vision and 
generosity to offer their lives for us in sacrifice. In indi- 
cating their service in the War we have had to rely on the 
Harvard War Records. 

Freshman Year 

Claverly Hall, Oct. 4, 1905. 
Dear Dad, 

Mother got away all right, and did not break down. She 
finished everything here, so that the room is really beauti- 
ful. ... I went to Slavic 4 today. I think it will be O.K., 
for all of the Varsity team are in it. It is one of Bill Reid's 
prescribed courses for football candidates. There is only 
one textbook, and the man who is giving the course wrote 
that himself. . . . 

Sincerely, 

Cap. 

Mother had been on to Cambridge to furnish his room 
and to see him settled (?). That she left him without let- 
ting him see a tear he appreciated. He always dreaded 



30 LETTERS OF 

Mother or me being too demonstrative. It is with solid 
comfort that he turns to his congenially undemonstrative 
father and signs himself, "Sincerely." That was rather 
warming up, for as a child he ended a letter to Father, 
"Yours truly. Cap." 

He is not conscious of futility or shame in choosing to 
begin college with a course on the History of Russian Lit- 
erature, in translation. It was notorious as a "snap." 
He hoped it would not consume too much of his time. 
It didn't. 

Most of Caspar's letters were written to his mother. 

Oct. 6, 1905. 
Dear Mom, 

It is a great mistake ever to have good food here, for 
you realize how poor the food out here really is. I have 
only had one meal in town and then I only had 75 cents 
to spend at the Touraine. 

The bill ^ is O.K. I had to be recuperated with smelling- 
salts when it fell out of your letter just now. It was a terri- 
ble shock. It is "perfectly lovely" of Dad to pay it. 

Oct. 6, 1905. 

I HAVE just returned to-day from Medfield, where James 
Roosevelt ^ took me to spend Saturday and Sunday. We 
left here Friday afternoon, and arrived at the Norfolk 
Hunt Club about four o'clock, when we had a ride. Satur- 
day morning we came back to Cambridge for lectures. 
James insisted that I go back with him and I did. 

We had a ride to the hounds. It is just fifty per cent 
better than any other game I ever tackled. The run con- 

^ For tutoring with "The Widow" Nolen. 

^ James Alfred Roosevelt, Harvard, '06, became a major in a supply train of 
the A.E.F. He died on the transport on his way home. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 31 

sists of two halves with a check in between. Each half was 
about five miles long. 

The first half was very new to me, of course, but great 
fun. However, I was purely an "also ran," as I waited at 
barways for ladies and older men to pass, etc. 

James told me that the stunt was to get off next to the 
master and stay there. I did this in the second half and 
finished first along with James. He gave me a little thor- 
oughbred to ride, by Imp July — April Showers; very ugly, 
but jumped like a bird and went faster every minute. 

But I am afraid that this has spoiled me for just plain 
riding. There seems to be no object in it. James is going 
to Virginia for the American vs. English fox-hound trials. 
I will continue this in my next. . . . Send list of misspelled 
words. 

Caspar did not restrict himself to the friends he had 
made at "The Widow's" or to his classmates. He began at 
once seeing friends of the family and friends I had made in 
Cambridge and in Boston. 

This letter reminds me of a day in 1902 Caspar and I had 
on Exmoor with the Devon and Somerset Stag Hounds. 
We were staying at Lynton with Father and Mother late 
in the summer. The hounds were to meet for the first 
time that season. The Cottage Hotel was full of hunting 
people. Cap and I longed to ride. The proprietor of the 
hotel and stables promised us horses. When the morning 
came he brought up a shaggy little pony for Cap. He was 
only fifteen then and tiny, but he had long ago graduated 
from shaggy ponies to thoroughbreds. His lip quivered 
and he had a hard fight not to weep by being thus humili- 
ated before all the men and women who were mounting 
hunters. He was too good a sport to quit. How he did it 



^^i LETTERS OF 

I don't know, but he kept up with all of us that day, even 
on that rvHinJ pony, *nd was in *t the death. 

We did not kiU until well on in the afternoon. Cap and 
1 had no sandwiches and were ravenously hungry. We 
made our way to Boriock. There, in a pictune-Kx>k inn 
with a thatched tvwK we could get only a oottase loaf, grey 
as pwtty, chee:>!e and heer. I toJd him he was too young to 
drink beer, H:$ eyes snapped and then twinkled. I knew 
Ke would get even with n«. He had ginger be^, the kind 
in stone bottks. I stuflfed myself with st<^gy bread and 
cheese., and washed it v^- ^ /^ v :: As 

soon as we reached the b. g 

tide back to Lynton, Ca^p said: "" We ^ve got to walk. Your 
WoTse and my appJe-dampling heie are all in." 

Ba^ that r.rne I was tiied and sleepy, but it was so ob- 
vi*x:s^y rhe rh:r-g ro ic> that I could not dispute his advice, 
T^ji his fur. '>ecar-, 1 began to sweat beer wlule Cap danced 
arcies arou:^i n-je ar.,- ■ . . -^jernr remarks i r ; . ■■ : r ; -g 



- -^ ::"?r . - 


"^ : r«-)ej of the 


iTic h.^r.-^e "STi 


- ^anvai:^^ 


better c- 


■ - ■ - ■. ■ 


Bc>r - 




CX5-- 


. . 



1 09Thaick6<mBiT nip ^nthJuKS Monday. AsIiBd 
not go fo feoE^dl pracoce Friday or Satsasday I got ki riei 
c;& i^ sqpmd. AhoR kali ^e sqoad wss £:^d. 

I an §1011^ OCR: lor ctXESWioB; in &ci, I -icsnt aot Tesisr> 
day. It IS pretiy go^i f^in asi ya« laset Iocs of nice iA- 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 33 

lows, both freshmen and upper classmen. I have met so 
many nice, "white-looking" fellows that I am utterly un- 
able to tell one from another. . . . 

I went to see John ^ and Fay * this evening. T'r.ty -^-ere 
very nice, and John invited me to play golf with hirn to- 
morrow. 

I went to Slavic today. It is very interesting. There is 
not a grind among the hundred fellows in the course, and 
nobody can be found who wants to be a monitor. The 
football players form a group, discuss Inlays and use coins 
to represent men. Others talk on diiterent subjects, and 
some study their kssons. Lots will flunk the course, I am 
sure. 

I am going to start in eating at the St. Mark's table to- 
morrow. Henry McCall * pulled the wires for me. 

I wanted to go to New York to see the aatomobile race 

and baseball game on Saturday, but after a look at my 

accounts I chansed my mind. 

Cap. 

Tell Mother that I appreciated her not breaking down 

in her letter to me. 

Oct. 19,1905. 

Tuesday I studied all afternoon and wait to a freshman 
reception at Fred's.* You can picture Walter ' spending 
the evening by going from the bathtub, in which a keg of 
beer was, to the sitting-room, carrying two white ptdiers 
and never cracking a smile. 



^ John Loogwordi Sirniwiut , Hamrd, '04, a Efidoae Owl— . i li faead, at 
that time ia the Lav ScfaooL la die War he was at fint ob the BdgiBm Bdkf 
Comminkn aad later a major ia the Jwd^fi-J^dntaSfs-GemexaF* Departaeoc 

* ¥aj lagalb, Harrard, '04. * Hevr McCd, Banraid, '09. 

* Frederick C Irring, Harrard, '06, becasK a major m the Mofical CocpB, 
A.E.F. 

» Walter W. MetcaM, Harvard, '06, ztzs.-t i --aokmdcii 



34 LETTERS OF 

I see lots of George Wagstaff.^ He is very amusing. I 
asked him what Anthropology was about, and he replied 
that "it was just about things in general." He was the 
first man taken in the Polo Club. 

Oct. 25, 1905. 

Dean Briggs is a wonder. He is worth all the snippy 
little brainless imps of instructors put together. I am rot- 
ten on daily themes as a rule, but every now and then I rip 
off a corker. I got B+ on one the other day. The subject 
was "The Nuisance of Writing Daily Themes." 

My instructor, an ass, says that, on the whole, my work 
is "very childish" and that he finds it "difficult to read it 
at all," but that at rare intervals I rip off a "rather amus- 
ing one." I will choke the little ass some day. . . . 

Mother must have asked him to write her just what he 
was doing day by day. The following bit is characteristic 
of many letters. He enjoyed writing comments, rather 
than narratives. 

Oct. 30, 1905. 

Saturday I went to the football game with Dabney^ 
and Huidekoper.3 In the evening I played bridge with 
John Suydam ^ and George Roosevelt.^ Sunday I went 
to church and played tennis. 

George Roosevelt says that when he and Teddy ^ were 

^ George B. Wagstaff, Harvard, '09, became an ensign, U.S.N. 

* Alfred S. Dabney, Harvard, '09, did ambulance and canteen work in France 
and Italy. 

' Prescott F. Huidekoper, Harvard, '09, became a major of infantry in the 
A.E.F. 

* John R. Suydam, Jr., Harvard, '09, became a first lieutenant in the Coast 
Artillery Corps, U.S.A. 

* George E. Roosevelt, Harvard, '09, became a lieutenant-colonel of infantry 
in the A.E.F. 

* Theodore Roosevelt, Jr., Harvard, '09, became a lieutenant-colonel of in- 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. ss 

going to start in, his cousin, the President, said to them, 
"Well, boys, there are two ways of starting in at Harvard. 
One way is to have a good time and stay in if you can, and 
the other is to stay in, and have a good time if you can." . . . 
It is grand that I belong to the Oakley Country Club. It 
is really fun playing golf on that course. . . . 

This is the first letter in which Caspar mentions belong- 
ing to a club. His biography could be written under the 
names of his clubs. They made the background he liked. 
He liked people, sport and games. He refused to make 
plans and he disliked the responsibility both of host and 
of guest. At clubs he could meet friends without planning 
to do so and there enjoy them without any social respon- 
sibility. 

In Cincinnati he could usually be found at the Riding 
Club, the Golf Club, the Country Club or the Queen City 
Club. While in college and even after graduation the Fly 
Club was his home when he was around Cambridge or 
Boston. In New York the Harvard Club was headquarters. 
Of all his clubs I think he liked best to be at the Pontiac 
Game Club in the wilderness of the Province of Quebec. 

Nov. 4, 1905. 
As regards the Russian crisis! What I don't know about 
it is not worth knowing, Wiener is very excited and talks 
about the crisis instead of regular lectures. It is very amus- 
ing. Everybody pretends to get excited. Wiener told a 
story. He said that a friend of his was imprisoned by the 
Government awhile ago. Another friend sent Wiener a 
petition to the Czar, after having had it signed by Harvard 

fantry in the A.E.F.; wounded; Croix de Guerre with three Palms; Legion of 
Honor; Distinguished Service Cross. 



3^ LETTERS OF 

Professors. Wiener replied: "The Czar is a coward; he 
does not dare to keep MendelefF in prison, and besides the 
Czar is not worthy that an American citizen should send 
him a petition." The class stamped their feet, whistled 
and somebody in the back of the room yelled "A bas 
Nicolas." If the Czar is deposed next Wednesday we think 
there will be no hour exam. 

I played tennis with Sam Bush ^ yesterday. He is the 
nicest fellow I have ever known, the best athlete St. Mark's 
ever had, president of their last year's class, and as simple 
and unaffected a fellow as I have ever seen. He turned 
down the Polo Club. 

Fritz 2 has been appointed Captain of the Freshman 
team. He has been playing wonderful football and is with- 
out doubt the best man on the team. 

Nov. 12, 1905. 

I PLAYED golf, tennis, and took hour exams, all last week. 
I killed Slavic. I enclose the paper. Useful for a business 
man to know, isn't it? 

I got a letter from one of my "brothers" at school, tell- 
ing me all the news. He said that they had only four dol- 
lars in the treasury, and that the secretary had spent it to 
have an in-growing toe-nail cut out. 

Too bad about the football game, isn't it? But we have 
a good chance with Yale. 

Cap. 

Knowing Dad's sporting qualities, tell him not to take 
that prophecy seriously. 

* Samuel Dacre Bush, 2d, Harvard, '09, enlisted in the Field Artillery, Offi- 
cers' Training School. That " he turned down the Polo Club " is Caspar's way 
of saying his morals are good. 

* Frederick Forchheimer, Jr., Harvard, '09, a lifelong friend of Caspar's in 
Cincinnati, became a second lieutenant of infantry in the U.S. Army. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 37 

Nov. 15, 1905. 

Life at Claverly has become exciting, to say the least. 
Everybody has pass-keys. My friends have all found out 
how I love to be fondled. They turn up at all hours of the 
night, in groups of two or three, and pull me out of bed. I 
am having two huge bolts made for my door. . . . 

There is now a golf course laid out on my floor which 
causes much amusement and more noise. . . . 

Dan Forchheimer,^ I hear, was taken into the Fencing 
Club. Fritz turned it down. It rather amuses me, for the 
Fencing Club is composed mostly of dropped Freshmen and 
fellows about nineteen, who are anything but the Doctor's ^ 
ideal. It won't hurt Dan any, I don't think. 

I was amused by an invitation from the Wiborgs.^ On it 
was their coat of arms with the motto: "Conquer Death 
by Virtue." If you will kindly tell me what it means I will 
be much obliged. 

How about my spelling? 

Nov. 20, 1905. 

Last Saturday the Freshmen got beaten by Yale. I 
went with Bill Wendell,^ a fellow named Biddle,^ and Dacre 

^ Landon Longworth Forchheimer, Harvard, '09, Fritz's younger brother, be- 
came a first lieutenant of field artillery in the A.E.F. 

^ Dr. Frederick Forchheimer, of Cincinnati, their father, our family physician 
and friend. 

' Mr. and Mrs. Frank Wiborg, of Cincinnati and New York, and their 
daughters were intimate friends of Caspar's. 

* William Greenough Wendell, Harvard, '09, became a first lieutenant of in- 
fantry. Intelligence Section, A.E.F., and was on the American Commission to 
Negotiate Peace. He and Caspar remained intimate friends for fifteen years. 
The day after Caspar's death he wrote: "Dear Cap, I shall miss him awfully. 
How loyal a friend he was, how brave a heart! In his friendship there is no re- 
gret but that it lasted such a little while." 

* Francis B. Biddle, Harvard, '09, was in an Officers' Training School in the 
U.S.A. when the Armistice was signed. 



38 LETTERS OF 

Bush to have dinner with Sam Vaughan.^ Bill told me 
that he lived on the right-hand side of Beacon Street. For 
a while I was horrified that such a nice fellow should live on 
the wrong side, but, as I rather liked the boy, I accepted. 
Imagine my relief to find that he really did live on the right 
side in a very grand house. We had a wonderful dinner. 
I have got it doped out so that I can get about one or two 
meals a week in Boston, and it is nice. You know what 
my ideas on dressing ^ for dinner used to be. Well, they 
have changed. When I first started in I used never to 
wash for meals. Now I always wash and the other night 
changed my collar. By the way you can wear a collar here ^ 
until it wears out unless you fall down or something in 
order to get mud on it. 

Nov. 21, 1905. 

Talk about a social blunder! I committed one, worse 
than being seen by a Bostonian reading a Hearst's Boston 
American, which by the way I always read. A fellow here, 
who I know quite well, is named Wendell. He eats at the 
table, and lives with Sam Vaughan on my floor. It never 
entered my mind that his father was Barrett. I went in to 
dinner with him at Sam Vaughan's house last Saturday. 
I can remember of talking to him on several occasions 
on the subject of English instructors and professors in 
general. 

All my friends are on probation. I was pretty fortunate 
to escape. 

Cap. 

^ Samuel Vaughan, Harvard, '09, enlisted as a private in 1917 and became a 
first lieutenant of infantry in the A.E.F. and an officer in charge of civil affairs 
in occupied territory in Germany. 

2 Caspar always considered changing his clothes a bore. 

' This is in contrast to Cincinnati's soft coal soot. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 39 

Nov. 27, 1905. 

Well, it is all over. It was one of the greatest games 
that there has ever been. Of course it is too bad that we 
lost, but we did much better than we expected to. It was 
the most wonderful sight that I have ever seen; 43,000 
people all excited and crowded, but perfectly good- 
natured. . . . 

Mark ^ was with the Glee Club. We had a wonderful 
time. Such a sight as that big Boston Theatre I have never 
seen. All Harvard men. The show absolutely a farce. 
Everybody threw confetti and streamers. 

After the show there were hundreds of people all want- 
ing to get on the same cars. When they did get one, they 
never paid any fares, threw the conductor and motorman 
off and ran the cars themselves. No brutality at all! I 
did not see a single man get into a fight. I can't describe it 
all, but it was really wonderful. . . . 

Mission House of the Society of St. John the Evangelist, 

33 Bowdoin Street, Boston, 
Nov. 30, 1905. 

Dear Mother, 

Spence arrived last evening at six. We had a fine talk 
and turned in early. We are to have dinner here and are 
going to see Nat Goodwin tonight. . . . 

We have decided to buy an Irish terrier for Dad if we 
can get a good one. What do you want? 

I want a bath-wrapper (a smooth one without an " itch ") , 
one cuff button to match my gold one, socks (serviceable 
ones), neckties, underclothes and money. I don't want 
any fountain pens, books, pen-knives, Gibson girls, or any 
little fool luxuries. I should also like a mershaum pipe 

^ Mark Mitchell, of Cincinnati, a relation and lifelong friend, at that time an 
undergraduate at Yale. 



40 LETTERS OF 

(one with a flat bottom, called a poker pipe). I want no 
pictures or anything for my room. It is perfect. This is 

a concise and full list. 

Lovingly, 

Cap. 

If I must have things I don't need I prefer things for the 
woods. I pity the dog who I take care of for three weeks. 

Claverly Hall, Cambridge, 

Dec. 2, 1905. 

Last evening I got a letter from Dean Wells ^ putting me 
on probation. To say that I was surprised hardly expresses 
it, although I knew that I did not do well. Spence and I 
went to see him this morning, but could do nothing. I got 
two "C's" and four "D's," but the "C's" were in half 
courses. I naturally feel very badly about it, and blame 
nobody but myself. I think, however, that it will do me no 
harm, and I feel perfectly sure that I can get off at the mid- 
years. But I realize how much hard work I have to do and 
intend to do it, without the aid of a tutor. 

What makes me feel so badly about it is the fact that I 
did not get such high marks so that I would not have been 
on the boundary line. I did do some work and I also worked 
regularly, but I did not do enough and did very poorly in 
the exams. 

I hope that you won't take it too seriously, for it will 
do no good. I must suffer for not working enough and not 
you. My one object now is to get my marks up to "C's" 
with a chance for "B's," instead of **D's" with a chance 
for "C's," and what's more it has got to be done. 

I realize that the work must begin at once and have al- 

^ Edgar H. Wells, Harvard, 1897, at that time Assistant Dean of Harvard 
College. In the War he was at first a major, American Red Cross, later a cap- 
tain, Q.M.C., and was appointed Assistant Military Attache, American Em- 
bassy, London. Decoration: Military Cross (British). 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 41 

ready been studying about two or three times as much as 
I did. The results have shown in my last conferences and 
I know they will show even more. 

Spence will tell you just what probation means, tech- 
nically, so there is no use of my repeating it. 

Don't get an idea into your head that I am going to get 
dropped, for the chances of that are infinitely less than if 
I had just skinned through, or don't think that I have any 
idea of leaning on the Widow, for I haven't. 

Tell Dad that I got his check. 

Lovingly, 



Cap. 



There is lots more news, but it is insignificant. 



Caspar's friends thought it a good joke on him that I 
should arrive to visit him just in time to get the news of 
his probation. He thought it fortunate that I should be 
there to "explain" to the family and so save him the dis- 
comfort of doing it. Such a division of labor was not 
unique or uncharacteristic. He refused to let his peace or 
happiness be disturbed by such a detail, but he did study 
enough to get off probation. 

Dec. 12, 1905. 

First questions! In regard to bath-wrapper; it may be 
fuzzy, but not sharp and itchy like Father's. . . . 

I got a B+ in History last week. As George Wagstaff 
said, when he killed his hour exams.," You can't keep a good 
man down." 

It has been so cold here that I feel as if I would snap 
right in two if I were shaken. I have been wearing both 
my suits of underclothes. I am praying for warm weather 



42 LETTERS OF 

soon so that I can have them washed and wear summer 
ones. That was no joke about my wanting underclothes 
and money.^ . . • 

In spite of the weather, the Office and nine o'clocks, I 
am getting to like it better every day. Even the studying 
is not so bad as any other I have ever done. Don't think 
from this that I am not working, for never in my life have 
I worked so regularly. 

I have just finished a nine page biographical portrait of 
Father Powell.^ It is a literary gem. I hope I can con- 
vince ^ of it. . . . 

I thought that I knew most of the nice fellows in our 
class, but I was mistaken, they spring up from everywhere. 
There are hundreds of them. We have undoubtedly the 
best class that ever entered college. 

1 am getting anxious to get home. I ought to have a 
wonderful time. I enclose the letter of my friend ^ Dean 
Wells. He is very nice; it is Hurlbut^ that causes all the 
trouble. 

The following letter suggests that while he was at home 
for the Christmas holidays there were conversations on the 
subject of study. 

^ At this time Father had the fantastic idea that Caspar must dress on his al- 
lowance. 

2 Rev. F. C. Powell, now Provincial Superior in America of The Society of St. 
John the Evangelist. 

* The instructor in English composition who called Caspar's writing "very 
childish" and whom Caspar called "an ass." 

* That they really were friends is evident from what Edgar Wells wrote us 
when he heard of Cap's death: "You will remember my acquaintance with Cas- 
par began many years ago and under circumstances which do not always lead to 
friendship, but I saw then his intrepid, unselfish spirit which all of us learned to 
salute with profound respect and admiration as the circumstances of war called 
forth his greatest efforts. He is a great loss that cannot be replaced, but if I may 
venture to say so, your sorrow may well be assuaged by solemn pride in his splen- 
did achievements." 

^ Professor B. S. Hurlbut, Dean of Harvard College. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 43 

Jan. 14, 1906. 

Last week I worked along in "John-horse"^ style until 
Friday, a day which will long remain in my memory. Then 
I worked from 6.45 in the evening until three in the morn- 
ing and have been "stale" ever since. I read most of the 
Old Testament, two French plays and James Roosevelt's 
notes in Eng. 28. There is only one thing which describes 
such an act. It is hell! Saturday I recuperated. I slept 
until lunch time and played bridge with Ted Roosevelt, 
Shaun Kelly ^ and "Skein" Hadden ^ in the afternoon. In 
the evening I did a little work in a gentlemanly fashion 
and went to bed. This morning I got out of bed, with a 
great effort, and went to Church. There you have me up 
to date. 

For the next three weeks each day will be worse than the 
preceding one. Bright prospect, isn't it? But "Cheer 

I must tell you an amusing thing Mr. Nolen said to me 
— I met him on the street just as I was mailing a letter. 
He said as he passed, "I am working hard. Your loving 
son Caspar." ^ 

My English A man said in regard to my long theme 
"The man ^ you write about may be interesting, but you 

^ A slow, steady, uninteresting trot. The reference is to Grandmother Bur- 
ton's carriage horses. He thought they were no good and despised their manner 
of progress. 

^ Shaun Kelly, Harvard, '09. 

^ Harold F. Hadden, Jr., Harvard, '09, became a second lieutenant in the U. S. 
Army Ambulance Service in France. 

* At the same letter box, shortly after Caspar's death, I met Mr. Nolen. In 
speaking of Caspar's death I said, "We are very proud of him, but we are very 
lonely." His reply was a real comfort, "The pride will increase, but the loneli- 
ness will decrease." 

' Father Powell. 



44 LETTERS OF 

conceal it well." That is discouraging, but works of art 
are never appreciated while the author is alive. 

Jan. 17, 1906. 

Dear Dad, 

I RECEIVED your letter and check yesterday. When I 
read Mr. Nolen's letter I confess I was red hot, but on con- 
sideration I decided to say nothing. Talk does little good 
now. It is results we want; nevertheless in order to make 
you feel a little easier let me say that I think he is wrong 
both when he says, "I am inclined to think that even now 
he is a little over-confident," and when he says, "He might 
put forward even more endeavor than he does with ad- 
vantage," 

The first of these statements is the result of the fact 
that he does not know that I was scared when I was put 
on probation and that I have been doing my work regu- 
larly ever since. 

Let me say in regard to his second statement that I fail 
to see how I could do very much more work than I am 
doing right now, although there is no limit, and your letter 
will make me open the throttle wider still. 

But as I said all this is of very little value. I hope to 
show you by results that what I say is true, and if I don't 
it will be because I am a fool. 

Lovingly, 

Cap. 

It just occurs to me on reading the "Widow's," my, and 
your letters through, that he has just about accomplished 
what he aimed at!!l 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 45 

Jan. 21, 1906. 



Dear Mon, 



I WORKED part of this evening and loafed the rest. I 
have just one week more in which to prepare.^ I have gone 
over my work pretty well, but have only hit the high 
places. Next week I polish. . . . 

Don't let Dr. F.^ bother you. 



Jan. 25, 1906. 



I STRONGLY advise you go to bed and rest up and do not 
run up and down stairs.^ 

I finished lectures yesterday so now there is plenty of 
time for study. Last night I went to the Widow's and cov- 
ered the Constitution of the United States in one hour. 
Going some, isn't it? 

Father Tovey ^ came to see me yesterday. He is very 
amusing, and about the best man I have ever seen. He is 
so good that it is a shame. It sticks out all over him. He 
seems so out of place with people shouting across to Ran- 
dolph, "Jim, for God's sake bring back those printed 
notes." These, by the way, are wonderful in going over 
lectures. 

I have made so many outlines that I dream of skeletons. 
Everybody says make an outline and work after its pat- 
tern. 

* For his mid-year examinations. He knew he had to pass them creditably 
in order to get off probation. 

* Dr. Forchheimer did not regard probation lightly for either his sons or his 
friends' sons. 

' Medical advice to a mother with tired nerves. 
« Rev. A. E. Tovey, S.S.J.E. 



46 LETTERS OF 

Feb. 2, 1906. 

I GOT Dad's telegram this morning. It is too bad you 
are sick. The thing to do is to rest up and not worry. . . . 

Now a proposition. If you have no objections I am go- 
ing to room with Francis Biddle in Dunster next year. . . . 

Francis is a dandy, awfully bright and attractive, and 
doesn't get on my nerves at all. I think it ought to be an 
ideal arrangement. We would both rather get the double 
room if we can, but this is doubtful. . . . 

Francis is a cousin of Edmund Coxe ^ and went to Gro- 
ton. As George Wagstaff says, "Pretty high life, I guess!" 
His sister is the one you read about in Town Topics who is 
always "raffling off Persian kittens." . . . 

Feb. 20, 1906. 

I SPENT last evening holding the hand of a great friend 
of mine who has just been dropped. I never felt sorrier for 
anybody in my life. The poor fellow knows he is a fool, and 
yet feels that there is nothing to be done about it and that 
he isn't worth anything, etc. I left him and played bridge 
for a time. I went to get something to eat at about twelve, 
and was surprised to find this fellow, whom I pictured weep- 
ing his eyes out, surrounded by a crowd of fellows saying, 
"When I was in college," etc., and having a fine time. . . . 



Feb. 21, 1906. 
■ I AM so sorry to hear that you are sick, but if you calm 
yourself I think all will go well. . . . 

Went to Boston with Hal McCall in the evening. He is 
a wonder. It 's too bad he is in love. John Suydam, who is 

^ E. J. D. Coxe, Harvard, '03, and an intimate friend of mine. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 47 

a second edition of Madame,^ says the girl doesn't like it. 
She is a fool. 

Feb. 22, 1906. 

I AM off probation. I got a C in English A and the Dean 
took me off himself. If I should get all C's at the end of the 
year I would be on the Dean's list next fall. That would be 
wonderful, but I fear it could never be. 

Feb. 28, 1906. 

Father's check arrived this morning. It arrived at a 
most opportune moment, as we are having a big dinner 
tonight for "those who are going to leave us," and I was 
in sore need of money. 

Sunday morning I went to Church, ate breakfast at that 
hotel near the Church, returned to Cambridge, and talked 
until three o'clock. At three I went to Oakley and played 
squash with John Stet, had tea and returned to Cambridge, 
where I spent the evening "among my books." 

Monday I went to lectures, all of them, talked awhile, 
coxswained awhile, and spent most' of the evening reading 
"Tom Jones," which I like very much. 

Yesterday I went to lectures, read, coxswained and 
played bridge with Hugo ^ and the two Roosevelts. We 
played all evening and stung the Roosies good and hard. 

1 am having great sport coxswaining. I know everybody 
on the crew, which is the rottenest on the river, and so 
have great sport cussing them out. I heard the coach say 
the other day, "Robinson,^ get more bevel on your oar." 

* Madame de Gisbert, of Cincinnati, always has "inside information" about 
the latest news. 

2 Hugo Gibert de Fritsch, Harvard, '09, was in a F. A. Central Officers' Train- 
ing Camp, U.S.A. 

* Monroe Douglas Robinson, Harvard, 'og, afterwards his room-mate and fre- 
quently referred to as "Mose." In the A.E.F. he was at first with a Supply 
Train and later a captain in the Q.M.C. He received a divisional citation for 
bravery. 



48 LETTERS OF 

So I, remembering that, yell out at the top of my voice, 
"Number 3, you have got to get more bevel on," at which 
Mose falls to laughing and puts the whole crew out, for he 
knows that I haven't the vaguest idea what bevel means. 
The stroke, Eggie Denny,^ tells me what to say and I pro- 
ceed to say it in very harsh terms to somebody. I had them 
fooled for a couple of days, but they are on to me now. 

The rooming business is getting more complicated every 
day. John Suydam is back in the running again, as Nick's^ 
mother doesn't want to sign his lease. Hugo has to have 
a very cheap room and we seem to be unable to find one, 
but are still hunting. I shall get a good single if I can in 
Claverly and hold on to it until the sky clears. Then if it 
does so, I will give up my single, after which I will sign the 
double lease, but will let you know before I act. 

Lovingly, 

Cap. 

Mose brought the hat back, or what was left of it. I 
know Secretary Taft sat on it at the wedding.^ 

I am going over to Randolph to live with John for a 
while, and if I like it may stay all year. 

Mar. 9, 1906. 

I AM SO sorry to hear that you are still sick. What is the 
matter? Tell Dr. Forchheimer that I want you to be well. 

Everything goes on just the same here. Tuesday I heard 
the most interesting lecture I have had so far. Barrett Wen- 
dell said, "Richardson's ideal was to be superintendent of 
a Sunday School; Richardson had not a spark of genius; 

* George Parkman Denny, Harvard, '09, captain. Royal Army Medical Corps, 
B.E.F., in 1916, later a captain in the Medical Corps, A.E.F. 

' Richard Winslow Nickerson, Harvard, '09, seaman, U.S. Naval Reserve 
Force. 

* Of Nicholas Longworth, Esq., and Miss Alice Roosevelt. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 49 

gentlemen ! I think you will agree with me that genius in a 
Sunday School superintendent is a contradiction in terms." 
He has a way of summing up the characteristics of a man 
in a few sentences that remain with you always. . . . 

I just saw Francis Biddle. He has been on what is called 
here a "God-helping" expedition to Nashville, Tenn. He 
had a wonderful time. He and Skein Hadden lived in a 
Southern family, where Francis fell in love with the daugh- 
ter and went riding every day. As far as I can find out he 
never heard of any convention or speeches. 

I should like very much to go to New York and visit 
Spence, but I can see no hope. Ahead of me is a region of 
utter financial darkness. I could get together enough to go, 
but it would be like a candle going out with a flicker. I owe 
nobody anything, however, and could not even if I wanted 
to, which I don't. Everybody here who has been given 
money by the year is simply floored. 

Mar. 17, 1906. 
I GOT your letter about half an hour ago. For goodness' 
sake, don't think that I meant to criticize your letters. Far 
from it! They are wonders. I simply said that a particular 
one was slushy, and I don't mind slush. 

^pril 29, 1906. 

Let me know whether you are coming on or not. I do 
hope you will, for you will have a much better time than 
before, I am sure. 

Father would love it here now. On the 26th, I think, 
there are track athletics and a boat race. He could also 
play golf. 

I have ordered a dress-suit, which I think will keep me 



so LETTERS OF 

in debt for life. It is going to take me most of this summer 
in the woods ^ to come out even on the year at any rate. 



May 6, 1906. 

One reason I have not written you for so long is that I 
have been up at St. Paul's ^ since Friday morning and have 
not had a second free. 

What I did in the first part of the week I do not remem- 
ber, but I think I worked. I also worried a bit about money 
matters. Talk about "frenzied finance"! 

Never have I had a better time than I had at St. Paul's. 
"Mose," "Lamb," Du Pont Irving, Jack Harrison, Vic- 
tor Onativia and Elliot Cowdin ^ all went up. 

Friday afternoon we spent canoeing, playing ball and 
shaking hands, which seems to be the national sport up 
there. Friday evening we were all dead, and after making 
remarks about what rotten condition one gets in after a 
winter in Boston, etc., we went to bed. 

Saturday we took a long canoe trip. I find that my beau- 
tiful nature has become spoiled. Little things annoy me. 
This is not a pose, but a sad fact. I find that when I get 
on a bum horse and saddle or when the stern man in a 
canoe insists on turning his paddle the wrong way and wast- 
ing all my valuable energy I grow peevish. There is one 
good thing, I am so small that nobody will take much 
"sass" from me. I am going to try stopping coffee. 

Saturday night we went to Communicants' meeting 

^ At the Pontiac Game Club. 

* St. Paul's School, Concord, New Hampshire. 

' Elliot C. Cowdin, 2d, Harvard, '09, was in the American Hospital Ambu- 
lance Section, November, 1914-February, 1915. French Army, Aviation Sec- 
tion, sergeant, February, 1915-January, 1917. Medaille Militaire, Croix de 
Guerre with two Palms and Star. Major, Air Service, Aeronautics, Special 
Mission for Bureau of Aircraft Production, A.E.F. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 51 

where Father Huntington/ Spence's friend, talked. He is 
O.K. 

Sunday we slept over most everything until 11.30 
Church. It is just like the services in England. "Jack," 
who used to sing at Eton, sang in the choir and said they 
sang wonderfully. Father Huntington preached wonder- 
fully. He is a great favorite here. In the middle of the 
sermon "Mose," who was fast asleep, fell out of his stall 
with a dull, sickening thud. 

Today we spent calling on the different Masters. I will 
have a talk with you about St. Paul's when you get here. 

[Here follow suggestions for improving the school! 
Editor.] 

I think I must be in love, for I wrote a description of a 
small rapids in springtime for English A. Maybe that's 
what makes me peevish. 

Harvard Polo Club, 

May II, 1906. 

I HAD an eye-opener the other evening. I went with Mor- 
gan 2 to collect money for the class fund. We went up to 
Walter Hastings Hall and then along some streets way 
north of there, where I never had the slightest idea that 
any men lived. Why, there are any number of fellows who 
live up there and some in Somerville, I find. 

But most surprising of all were the fellows themselves. 
All of them were pretty generous and gave all they could, 
and some of them were charming. We stayed and smoked 
a cigarette with one fellow, who was as much of a gentle- 
man as anybody I have ever known. What I can't under- 
stand is why such a fellow will come to college. Why he 
wants to give up an opportunity to make some money 

* Rev. J. O. S. Huntington, at that time Superior of the Order of the Holy Cross. 

* E. Morgan Gilbert, Harvard, '09, became a captain of infantry, A.E.F. 



52 LETTERS OF 

simply to learn that the Battle of Adrianople occurred in 
1376 and other equally valuable pieces of information, I 
can't understand. 

When we came to Claverly and Randolph we heard tales 
of selling dress-suits, watches, guitars, banjoes, etc., and 
did not get much money except from a few rich fools who 
are stung by everybody. 

I have been studying all week, not from any sense of 
duty, but because of the ever present fact that I have 
^13.50 to last out the month with. When you come I shall 
have three meals a day with you. I saw Father Powell ^ 
Monday. . . . 

A few days' fishing wouldn't be half bad now. 

Cap. 

My peevishness was due to coffee, not love. 

'^Overlook," Orange, N.J., 

June 12, 1906. 

Many things have happened since I last wrote you. I 
have taken all of my exams., except Government, which 
comes next Monday. I feel pretty sure that I am a Soph- 
omore, and I hope I have and will do myself proud. 

I came down here with "Mose" on the midnight. He 
also has Government and we brought along a fine line of 
books, notes, etc. 

Last night in the Touraine I saw Merlo,^ who has been 
sick for four months. He said, "When is your brother ever 
going to work?" I replied that he was in New York now. 
Merlo then said, "He was only joking about being a min- 
ister, wasn't he?" 

^ Caspar's references to Father Powell are usually too intimate to publish. He 
umlerstood Caspar, and Caspar admired and loved him as a priest and a friend. 
* My old friend, the headwaiter in the Cafe at the Hotel Touraine, Boston. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. S3 

We had breakfast with Elliot Cowdin. He lives in Gram- 
ercy Park, and has, I think, the most beautiful house I 
have ever seen. 

Directly after breakfast we came out here. This house 
is right on the top of a very heavily wooded mountain, 
from which you can see all the way to New York. The 
house is, I think, the prettiest I have ever seen. They have 
one huge living room with a billiard table in the middle, 
which is undoubtedly the most interesting, comfortable 
and attractive room I have ever seen. And to see old, un- 
shaven, lumbering Mose giving directions to "Perkins" 
the butler, is the most amusing sight I have ever seen. 
George Wag calls Mose the Patrician Vulgarian, and it is 
a good name for him. 

But the stables ! His father's hobby is horse-flesh. There 
are sixteen horses in their stables, and four grooms. It 
sounds like a circus ad, but it is true. There are three 
Texas Polo ponies, two thoroughbred ponies, numerous 
"hacks," carriage horses, etc. 

His family are simply lovely^ and all laugh at, with, and 
like Mose, whom they adore. His sister is really beautiful, 
and "lovely brought up." 

I have no plans or money for after the eighteenth and 
may come home. I will let you know. 

Mose's father rides every morning at seven, goes to town 
at nine, plays polo at five, and, as far as I can make out, 
seems to make a "nice living." That is a wonderful combi- 
nation, isn't it? 

Mose said a little while ago, "Let's study." He took a 
bath and then said, "I feel better, let's not study." But 
we are going to do wonders! 



54 LETTERS OF 

Claverly Hall, June 23, 1906. 
PLANS 

I LEAVE Sunday evening on the cruise,^ as they have 
finally hired a boat. There are about sixteen going and 
bedding for eight; but the Captain, who has made the trip 
before, says that nobody ever wants to sleep at the same 
time. 

I can only take a dress-suit-case along, so I am going to 
freight my trunk and gun to Father. I will surely be home 
by the first. 

As to going abroad! Nothing ever surprised me more. 
I should like to go very much and know how you would 
love it. But why Italy? Why not Norway, Ireland, Eng- 
land, Chateaux Country, Holland, Russia, or, if all these 
don't attract you, Germany? Why not take one of your 
cheap houses in Country Life, with "fourteen bed and one 
bath room"? That would be great sport. 

But don't worry. Please do not wear yourself out think- 
ing about it and nothing else. It won't hurt you to talk 
about it, but don't think. Why not say, some evening at 
seven-thirty, we'll give each other until twelve tonight to 
fight this out and after that we will have no more discus- 
sion. Or better yet, toss up a coin. I bet you are all getting 
peeved and cross talking it over. Tell Dad I got his check. 
It saved my life. 

Caspar did not have a high regard for our ability to make 
summer plans easily. They turned out well, however, and 
we four had a happy summer together in Europe. It was 

^ The Polo Club cruise from Boston to New London, for the Harvard-Yale 
boat races. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. SS 

his only visit to Italy. Whenever he was hot or bitten by 
a flea he blamed me for taking the family to Italy in sum- 
mer; but, in spite of heat and fleas, he was keenly sensitive 
to the beauty and the charm of Italy. When we got to 
France and to England he was at home. How impossible 
it would have been then to imagine that in a few years he 
would be fighting for England in France ! Even then, and 
at the time of the Passion Play at Oberammergau in 1910, 
he would not go to Germany. His chief objection to Swit- 
zerland was that it was full of Germans. 

He first went to Europe in 1900, when he was thirteen. 
Then he had his first glimpse of Ireland, which he was later 
to enjoy, his first visit to England, which he was later to 
serve, and his first real stay in France, where he was to 
sufl^er. We spent most of that summer in Paris. I had just 
completed my freshman year at Harvard and was feeling 
too much "a. man of the world" to associate in Paris with 
my little brother. Therefore I do not know what were his 
first impressions. Almost every morning he went with 
Father to the Exhibition. Afternoons I imagine he spent 
with some of our cousins, either at their house or driving 
in the Bois. Certainly from this time on he was devoted to 
them all, Mrs. Leggett, her sister Miss MacLeod, Alberta 
and Hollister Sturges, her children by a former marriage, 
and France Leggett. At his Cousin Betty's magnificent 
house in the Place des Etats-Unis, he saw for the first time 
prominent people of every nationality and listened to their 
interesting talk. He woke up to cosmopolitan life and in- 
ternational problems. From that time he never contracted 
his horizon. He was determined to live all over the world. 
Also he never again thought provincially. America came 
first, but she was part of a larger whole. If she was not 
fighting for Right he must enlist under any flag that was. 



S6 LETTERS OF 

This wider outlook than he had at home was renewed by- 
subsequent trips abroad. The long vacation's of 1902 and 
1904, when he was still a school-boy, he spent in England, 
Scotland and France. He became more and more intimate 
with the same group of Mother's cousins, by paying them 
long visits in England and meeting their English friends. 
He developed a taste for English country life and a feeling 
of being at home in both London and Paris. 

He was never again condemned to a summer resort. 
From the time he was thirteen he spent his long vacations 
in Europe or in the Canadian woods. After his graduation 
from Harvard he spent every summer but one abroad until 
he went North. From Newfoundland he went to Europe 
again, *' to get in the war." One wishes there were letters 
written during his early trips to Europe. I believe they 
would reveal seeds that flowered in his sacrifice. But dur- 
ing those early trips abroad he was with "the family," and 
that meant for him a holiday from writing letters. 

Sophomore Year 

Sept. 24, 1906. 

Dear Dad, 

Now about the room! 

I went this morning to Thurston ^ and received a little 
encouragement. I was just going out when Templeton 
Briggs 2 came along. He asked me what I was doing, and, 
when I told him that I was hunting a room, he said that he 

* Agent for students' rooms. 

' Templeton Briggs, Harvard, '09, his room-mate for three years and one of 
his most intimate friends. "Tempy," like Bruce Graydon, never missed visiting 
Caspar even a single day during the fourteen weeks of his final illness. In the 
War he was a first lieutenant of field artillery, A.E.F. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 57 

was doing the same thing. We then met Norman Prince.^ 
He had just gotten a room in the new Ridgely Annex. This 
is a new building which has been put up in the Court be- 
tween Claverly and Apley. There are only four suites in it. 
So Tempy and I took the only remaining double suite. . . . 
Tempy is quite a hard worker and in every way a good 
room-mate; so all ought to go well, and we can both save 
money at the same time. 

Sept. 26, 1906. 

Dear Mon, 

Wasn't meeting Tempy Briggs a lucky accident? The 
room is really fine and the arrangement seems perfect. 
Tempy says he can put up with me easily to save ^300. 
Monday evening I talked to Bruce and went to bed early. 

Tuesday I spent just shaking hands and having a good 
time generally. I have also been getting a line on courses 
and will see Barrett ^ tomorrow. . . . 

Fritz is back as a special on probation and the Doctor 
has been seen prowling about. . . . 

Sept. 30, 1906. 
These are the answers to your questions: 

(a) There are two bedrooms and one study in our suite. 

(b) The suite is on the ground floor. 

^ Norman Prince, Harvard, '08, Volunteer Aviator, French Army, December, 
1914. Organizer of the Lafayette Escadrille, Died of injuries at Gerardmer in 
the Vosges. Medaille Militaire, Croix de Guerre with two Stars and four Palms, 
Cross of the Legion of Honor. 

2 This is Professor Wendell to whom he refers so familiarly. Caspar admired 
him greatly and valued his advice. Mr. Wendell took a real interest in Caspar 
and admired his self-sacrifice in the North and in the War. Shortly before Cas- 
par's death he said to me, "Had he died that winter he was ill so long in Beacon 
Street, we should have only the memory of a pleasant and witty friend; now we 
have the inspiration of an epic hero." 



58 LETTERS OF 

(c) Allowance is gratefully received. 

(d) Tempy lives in Boston, played on the Harvard Golf 
team, Freshman Hockey team, and was Captain of the 
Freshman Baseball team. He was in the Polo Club. Be- 
sides all these he is really awfully nice. 

Friday I saw Barrett. I am going to try for a Degree 
with Distinction in the History and Literature of England. 
I shall take English D, English 8a and 8b, History I2a and 
J 2b, Economics i (all terribly hard). Fine Arts 3 (fairly 
easy), and German 25 (reputed to be easy). I am sending 
a catalogue. . . . Yesterday evening Tempy and I worked 
for three hours on this room and finished everything up 
except putting in a piano. Everybody thinks we have the 
bargain of the year, and it does look nice. 

I must tell you about Mose. He went off and bought a 
big picture of Nancy Hanks for his room, as he thought 
the walls looked bare. I am bound for St. John's. 

Cap. 

I have just asked Tempy to let me see his teeth, and 
they look like a hound's. 

Professor Wendell seems to have accomplished by this 
talk with Caspar what no other teacher had ever done. He 
effected a connection between Caspar's mind and studies. 
From this date Caspar's letters are full of what he was read- 
ing. Even as a small boy he had read widely, provided the 
book had nothing to do with school. Scott, Dumas, and 
Kipling he had swallowed whole. While he was reading 
"Les Trois Mousquetaires" nothing could divert him. I 
remember him reading it even while driving to a picnic. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 59 

Oct. 1 6, 1906. 
Dear Dad, 

Last night I went into town with Pren Willetts,^ had 
dinner at the Victoria and walked back again talking all 
the time. We played the Sophomore game good and hard, 
and it is O.K. I did not think it was going to be, but it 
is all right. We seemed to run into loud-talking freshmen 
making fools of themselves at every corner and we both 
went to bed with Sophomore swell heads. 

Oct. 23, 1906. 
Dear Mon, 

You speak as if you did not intend to come on. That is 
an idle fancy. Of course you will. We will have a wonder- 
ful time watching football games, etc. I want no excuses. 
Just pack up and come. This is final! 

Spence and I have been enjoying ourselves thoroughly. 
We had dinner alone at the Victoria. It was good fun. . . . 

Caspar's peremptory invitation to Mother is character- 
istic. No parents were ever more cordially and forcefully 
urged by a son to be with him. Such appeals recur fre- 
quently throughout his college letters. By the time he got 
into the Medical School nothing would satisfy him short of 
their going to Boston to live. 

Nov. 13, 1906. 

Everything has been going on about the same since 
you left. . . . 

It is too bad Father missed the moose. Tell him to write 
me about it if he can bear it. 

* Prentice Willetts, Harvard, '09, really his best friend in college, died shortly 
after graduation. 



6o LETTERS OF 

Ridgely Hall, Cambridge, 

Nov. 14, 1906. 

I HAVE just been elected into the Institute of 1770 and 
the Dickey on the Fourth Ten. I was the tenth man! Did 
ever fellow have such luck? The others were Ned Currier,^ 
Arthur Newbold,^ Bartow Crocker,^ Harold Edgell/ Bertie 
Hoffman/ Louis Shaw/ Frank Reece/ Sam Hoar ^ and 
Ted Roosevelt in order named. Our own class elected this 
ten. The first three were elected by the upper-classmen, 
and that was the only way I got in so soon. I assure you 
I and everybody else were so surprised that we almost 
collapsed. Nobody thinks I "deserved" it, and everybody 
apparently thought they were the only person who voted 
for me. 

I must now keep from getting a swelled head, and from 
some of the terrible examples loose here, I ought to have 
learned to do it. 

Caspar's classmates by electing him a member of these 
two most desired sophomore clubs showed that they recog- 
nized his charm. His talent for making friends won as 
much undergraduate recognition as if he had "made" 
athletic teams or been a conspicuous success in any form 
of college activity. 

^ Edward Putnam Currier, Harvard, '09, became a major in the Signal Corps, 
U.S.A. 

* Arthur EmlenNewbold, Jr., Harvard, '09, became a major of Field Artillery, 
A.E.F. 

^ Bartow Crocker, Harvard, '09, entered the Q.M. Officers' Training School in 
the U.S.A. 

* George Harold Edgell, Harvard, '09, was on the Committee on Public In- 
formation, Central Inter-Allied Commission, in Europe. 

" Albert Lincoln Hoffman, Harvard, '09, was at first with the American Red 
Cross Commission to Europe and later a captain in the Signal Corps, U.S.A. 
Recommended for the Legion of Honor. 

* Louis Agassiz Shaw, Harvard, '09. ' Franklin Reece, Harvard, '09. 

* Samuel Hoar, Harvard, '09, entered the Field Artillery Central Officers' 
Training School, U.S.A. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 6i 

Ridgely Hall, Nov. 25, 1906. 

Since Thursday when I wrote you last more big events 
have occurred. On Friday morning Clarence Pell ^ came 
to tell me that I had been elected into The Fly. I am to be 
taken in with Pren, Monk Jones,^ Henry Wilder,^ John 
Suydam and probably two other fellows on the sixteenth 
of December. It is all over now, and it surely does make 
one feel happy. I am so glad I did not go into some poorer 
Club, that I can fairly jump with joy over it, and I guess it 
was a very close shave too, for I know of two men in The 
Fly who literally hate me. . . . 

This next week I am going to do a larger amount of work 
than any undergraduate has probably ever done. 

The Fly, or the Alpha Delta Phi Club as it was then also 
called, is a small "final" club for upper-classmen. It be- 
came in Caspar's mind a second home. Its members were 
the group of friends from which he chose his intimates. 
Wherever he was in after life he always thought and spoke 
of returning to The Fly. In it was focussed his love for Har- 
vard. When, on the night before he went out to France as 
an officerin The King's, Father and Mother asked him what 
memorial he wished if he were killed, he told them he would 
like to have a scholarship founded in his memory at Har- 
vard. He wanted it controlled, if possible, by William G. 
Wendell and me. He wanted Wendell to represent The 

* Clarence C. Pell, Harvard, '08, enlisted as a private in the Aviation Section 
of the Signal Corps, arid became a captain in the Air Service. 

* Arthur R. Jones, Harvard, '09, became a captain of Air Service, Aeronautics, 
A.E.F. After Cap's death "Monk" wrote of "his game, cheerful personality, his 
happiness, his never failing sense of humor, and his uncomplaining courage 
throughout everything." 

' Henry H. Wilder, Harvard, '09, became a first lieutenant. Chemical War- 
fare Service, U.S.A. Caspar was his best man at his marriage and godfather to 
one of his sons. 



62 LETTERS OF 

Fly and me to represent The Society of St. John the Evan- 
gelist. An unusual combination of organizations, but not 
incongruous in Caspar's mind! He wished the scholarship 
to be available primarily for members of my monastic 
order and for members of The Fly. Wendell and I were 
to arrange that, and I suppose to appoint our successors 
from members of The Fly and The Society of St. John the 
Evangelist. Caspar wanted his memorial to be at Harvard, 
and he said that what he valued most at Harvard were 
" Spence's work and The Fly." 

Hotel Somerset, Boston, 

Nov. 29, 1906. 

I HAVE just finished a most wonderful Thanksgiving 
dinner with Mrs. Willetts and Marion Willetts^ who are 
here seeing Pren. It was a wonder. Pren and I slept until 
11.30 when we came in here without any breakfast. By 
1.30 we were in wonderful trim for eating, I can tell you. 

I am having a tea in my room this afternoon, with many 
people of both sexes I am told. The tea is on Pren's 
Mother. She wanted tea, Pren's rooms were impossible, 
Pren had no money. From that data you can draw your 
own conclusions. I most gallantly offered to give a tea, but 
it would not go through. . . . 

^ Now Mrs. Ernst Brower, of Roslyn, Long Island. She asked Caspar to be a 
godfather to her first boy, whom she named for her brother Pren. Caspar went 
from Camp Mills to see her and delighted his godson with the gift of his steel 
helmet. She sent Mother this characteristic word of him: "I think I have never 
been with Caspar, but that he talked of you and always in the most admiring 
way. He often told me that you were not strong enough to accomplish all you 
wanted to do. I even remember the words (which were so funny and like him), 
'The trouble is that her engine is too big for the craft.'" 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 63 

Ridgely Hall, Cambridge, 

Dec. 2, 1906. 

Dear Dad, 

I haven't seen Tempy since Wednesday. He must be 
sick in Lexington. Your predictions about my growing 
tired of a room-mate were wrong. I shall never be without 
one. Since he has been away I go out every evening and 
persuade somebody to come here and sleep. Waking up 
all alone in a room seems terribly dreary. 

This next letter sent Mother to the operating table 
laughing. 



Alpha Delta Phi Club, 

Ja7i. 16, 1907. 

Dear Mother, 

When this reaches you, you will be getting ready for 
the operation, which I know you hate. Don't get worried! 
This is my final advice. When you are "under the influ- 
ence" nothing will hurt. If I knew that a strong man was 
going to hit me I would be chloroformed at once if it were 
permitted. Please ask Father to telegraph me. 

Yesterday night Mose came to sleep with me. He is one 
of my really lifelong friends. 

Today I went in to play bridge again with Katherine 
Roosevelt,^ as I made the engagement the week before. I 
had a good time. 

Never has a person been in communion with the poets 
more than I. In the last week I have absolutely stung 
Byron, Shelley, Keats, Landor, and others too numerous 

^ Miss Katherine Roosevelt, of Boston, now Mrs. J. Stanley Reeves, of 
Haverford, Pennsylvania. 



64 LETTERS OF 

to mention; little quotations on tap to make a good im- 
pression with, etc. 

God help you and don't worry. 

Your loving son, 

Cap. 
There was so much noise going on here a second ago that 
I signed Yours truly. 

Jan. 17, 1907. 

Yesterday I went over to the Institute for dinner. 
George Wagg, Bruce, Mose and others of the old guard 
are eating there now. It is fine to have some place where 
we can all go now and then and see each other. I tell you 
a finer lot than the crowd I played round with last year 
I never saw. The talk literally hums when they get to- 
gether. It is just fun too, no gossip or meanness at all. . . . 

Ridgely Hall, Cambridge, 

Jan. 18, 1907. 

After a short talk with Tempy, who I really have not 
seen in two weeks, I retired underneath a pile of blankets, 
comforts, overcoats, sweaters and numerous other gar- 
ments. The thermometer never gets above zero here by 
any chance, except to let it snow now and then. Tempy 
goes to New York again tonight to play hockey against 
Princeton. Harvard will be beaten, I fear, although they 
have not had a single defeat here in five years. 

I have accomplished one thing this year. I really like 
poetry. I would just as leave as not, or rather read a good 
poem than a novel. I must say there are many things I 
would rather do than either, but still I think I have accom- 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 65 

plished something, for at the beginning of the year I used 
to roar with laughter at Wordsworth. These exams in it are 
awful, though. It brings lots of little thoughts into my 
brain, but I cannot connect said noble thoughts in a pleas- 
ing manner. 

Ridgely Hall, Cambridge, 

Jan. 22, 1907. 

I HAD the most wonderful time last evening. Katherine 
Roosevelt, two Fay girls, a Mrs. Leonard and one other 
female were all on board the "Rhode Island" for dinner. 
Mose took Louis Shaw, Frank Gunther and me, so with 
about ten officers, we made a fine and jolly party. It was 
just like Kipling. Every one of the officers is like a Kipling 
character. 

She, the Rhode Island, is one of the newest and biggest 
boats and is a beauty; 850 men aboard. 

Mose was surely at home. That boy can get to be 
friends with any man in a shorter time than anybody I 
have ever seen. 

Today I have done absolutely nothing but grind. It is 
funny, but I don't mind grinding a bit, I really don't. 
There is a certain feeling of doing a stunt which helps out 
a lot, and I think it does a lot more good than anything 
I know of, unless it is regular work. I think that it must be 
a fine thing to be perfectly confident of being able to do 
a huge job in a short time, such as reviewing John Stuart 
Mill in two days. I can't do it well, but I get a certain 
pleasure in trying to do it. 

It is now so late that I can scarcely see for sleep so good 
night and good luck. 



(id LETTERS OF 

Ridgely Hall, Cambridge, 

Jan. 29, 1907. 

Yesterday I did more work than I have ever done be- 
fore in two days. I studied Fine Arts 3 till I was blue in the 
face. All day and until four this morning. And if I didn't 
puncture that exam I lose my guess. I will enclose it. 

I never felt worse than I do now. I think I have the 
consumption, neuralgia and gangrene all at once. I am 
about to retire, and it is two in the afternoon. -I don't 
know when I shall wake up and I don't care if I ever do or 
not. 

Ridgely Hall, Cambridge, 

Feb. 3, 1907. 

MosE is apparently living here now. He has his suit-case 
here and sleeps here most of the time. I don't mind, be- 
cause I sleep in Tempy's bed, which is a wonder, with 
Mose. My bed is going to the dogs, I fear. " It is carrying 
on something fierce." 

Ridgely Hall, Cambridge, 

Feb. 6, 1907. 

I HAVE not given up writing to you, although appear- 
ances may be against me. 

Evening before last I sat up working on German 25. I tell 
you some of those Germans sure could write. I read Schil- 
ler's " Wallenstein" during the evening, and I tell you it 
is a very powerful play, if ever I have read one. . . . 

Pren got his face absolutely smeared with a puck play- 
ing hockey yesterday. His nose was broken and his Hp cut 
so that he had to have numerous stitches taken on the inside 
of his lip. Tempy says he never flinched at all during any 
of the operations. Never have I seen the sand that that 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 67 

boy has. He went on the cruise last spring with a sprained 
and mangled ankle, which I know was paining him terri- 
bly, yet if you had not seen it you would never have known 
he was hurt at all. . . . 



Alpha Delta Phi Club, 

Feb. II, 1907. 

I THINK Comp. Lit. 12 is going to be a winner. The fol- 
lowing are the prescribed books: Defoe, Captain Singleton; 
Fielding, Amelia; de Stendhal, La Chartreuse de Parme; 
Balzac, Cesar Birotteau; Thackeray, Henry Esmond; 
Eliot, Middlemarch; Flaubert, Madame Bovary; Haw- 
thorne, The Scarlet Letter; Meredith, Richard Feverel; 
Poe, Stevenson, Kipling (selected short stories). . . . 

Feb. 26, 1907. 

Saturday evening I spent with Spence, and went to 
Church one and one half times on Sunday. . . . 

That sounds as if he had left during the middle of the 
second service. I have many holy memories of being in 
Church with Caspar. I cannot write of them. I do, how- 
ever, want to share a memory of him when he was fifteen. 
We were in Salisbury, and had gone together to the Cathe- 
dral to make our Communions. I had noticed that all the 
clergy in the sanctuary were old and bearded, but did not 
say anything about it. Walking through the Close and 
the empty streets on our way to the hotel for breakfast 
Caspar was silent. I thought how reverent and devout he 
was. As we got to the hotel he broke the silence with, 
"Say, Broth, I can't stand 'em woolly, can you?" 



68 LETTERS OF 

Mar. 3, 1907. 

I AM going to live in Hampden next year with Tempy and 
Mose. It will only cost I170 apiece and the rooms are very 
nice. It is the building where all the muckers and cheap 
sports in college live, but I don't mind that. 

I went in to see "Man and Superman" the other night. 
I think it quite the cleverest thing I have ever seen, but 
I don't think it is great. Do you? . . . 

I do hope you will come here soon. In spite of the fact 
that much singing is going on here, and there are still lots 
of grads left, I have one of your Sunday night feelings. 

Vaucluse, Red Bank P. 0. 

Mar. 17, 1907. 

I AM having the time of my life! This is the most won- 
derful place I have ever seen. It is on the Shrewsbury 
River, which runs into the ocean at Seabright just five miles 
away. 

Mr. Jones has fifteen horses, ten of which are ponies. 
Never have I had such riding, and after all it is the best 
thing of all. I want an automobile less every day. 

We have been riding all over the country here and it 
certainly is beautiful. Yesterday we went to the Rumsen 
Polo Club, of which Mr. Jones is President, and then down 
the Rumsen Road to Seabright. 

Mr. Jones is one of the nicest men I have ever known and 
the best host. He is a Governor of the Stock Exchange and 
goes up to town every day, but never misses his ride, and 
he is over fifty-five, I should say. He has a huntsman's 
thigh! Compare him with our rich men, and you sure do 
get a contrast. 

Monk has one older brother, two younger sisters and two 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 69 

younger brothers, all of whom are corkers, but not a bit 
like Monk. They are very quiet and well-mannered. . . . 



Alpha Delta Phi Club, 

April 28, 1907. 

Friday evening I went to the theatre with Mose. Billy 
Gilbert ^ told me that Mr. Hofer ^ was in town, so I went 
over to the Touraine and saw him. After the show I spent 
the night with him. We had good fun. He is one of my 
best friends. I feel exactly towards Mr. Hofer as I do to- 
wards a fellow my own age. I hope to have him out here 
to dinner before he goes. 

May 6, 1907. 

I AM eating at Memorial.^ It might be worse. Wood- 
bury Seamans,'* John Brown,^ Crawford Burton,^ Chandler 
Cobb,'' Joe Husband ^ and other financial wrecks are eat- 
ing there. Personally I am booked for the rest of the year 
unless I find a hundred-dollar bill on the street. 

I suppose Dad is going to Canada pretty soon. As the 
King says in the story book, "I would give half my king- 
dom and my beautiful daughter to wed" if I could go. 

Let me know when you are coming. 

Caspar spent the summer of 1 907 in the Canadian woods. 
It was the place he cared for most. Father and he went 

* William Chatfield Gilbert, Harvard, '07, died before the War. 

^ Charles F. Hofer, Esq., of Cincinnati, a lifelong friend of our parents, whose 
friendship Caspar and I inherited. During Caspar's last illness Mr. Hofer was 
with Caspar almost every day and a never-failing cause of joy to him. 

' At Memorial Hall hundreds of Harvard students are fed at a low price. 

* Woodbury Seamans, Harvard, '08. 

* John W. Brown, Harvard, '08, became a captain of field artillery, A.E.F. 

* Crawford Burton, Harvard, '08. ^ Chandler Cobb, Harvard, '08. 

* Joseph B. Husband, Harvard, '08, became an ensign in the U.S. Naval Re- 
serve Force, overseas service. 



70 LETTERS OF 

there whenever they could, and in the woods their great 
friendship seemed most intimate and happy. They were 
always together, paddling, fishing, shooting, tramping the 
long trails, camping and talking. Caspar never talked so 
well as he did at the end of a day in the woods, but Father 
and he did not have to talk to each other there. Their con- 
geniality and love were so complete that their silence was 
more intimate than most talk. Caspar appeared at his 
very best in the woods. There he escaped, to quote a 
phrase from Lady Glenconner's memoir of her son, "not 
only illusive pleasure, but the tyranny of little things." 

Mother often went with them to the Pontiac Game Club. 
I went only twice. Caspar did not consider me a success 
there. Father Powell was often invited to go to the woods 
with them, for he loved the wilderness as they did. When 
he was free to go with them he and Caspar saw much of 
each other and there formed a deep and lasting friendship. 
After Caspar's death Father Powell wrote of Caspar's love 
for the woods: 

"In the years immediately preceding the War the place 
where Caspar most loved to be was the Canadian woods 
north of the Ottawa. In the woods thousands of questions, 
social, economical, ethical, present themselves in new and 
more engagingly simple aspects. Caspar hated the pon- 
derous imbecilities and pomposities of life. He found that 
in the Laurentians difficulties vanish, conventions fade, 
clothes are reduced to their least common measure. Things 
in Cincinnati, Boston or New York regarded as essential 
and inevitable evaporate among the trees or simplify them- 
selves with instructive ease. 

"The Canadian woods north of Petawawa are a laby- 
rinth of lakes, of low hills and mountains, covered once 
with big pines, now with spruce and hemlock and a second 




/ji t/w //'h-P^J 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 71 

growth of other timber. The weeks spent there each year 
were full of fishing, canoeing, tramping the moss-grown 
trails and camping experiences. Each hour was perfect of 
its kind. In the early morning the outlines of the hills over 
the lake would be indescribably soft and tender; while the 
day progressed with a succession of harmonies akin to a 
symphony, and ending with a few low, gracious chords. 

"Well, he has ridden his ride and made his mark in many 
a foray, and now he is where the heroes are. Could it be 
better? After all^ that is the way to die, better a thousand 
times to lay down your life for others than to drivel off into 
eternity betwixt awake and asleep in a fatuous old age. 
May God rest his gallant soul." 



Junior Year 



Alpha Delta Phi Club, 

Sept. 26, 1907. 



I SAW everybody I know, and it certainly is good fun to 
be back again. 

I signed on this morning in Comp. Lit. i, French 6, Fine 
Arts 4, Philosophy A, History 16 and English 45. This is 
a good selection, I think. I went in to see Spence, and 
brought Father Tovey and him out to tea. I was glad to 
see them again. Spence is too thin. He looks poorly and 
not as impressive as he should. 

I had been ordained late in May, and had at once begun 
my ministry at St. John's Church, Bowdoin Street, Boston. 
I wonder if he expected a deacon to be as portly and "im- 
pressive" as a bishop. 



72 LETTERS OF 



Hampden Hall, Cambridge, 

Oct. lo, 1907. 



I MET the Bishop of London the other day. He is the 
most attractive man I think I have ever met. The next 
day I saw him out at Oakley playing golf. I would really 
like to know him better. 

I am going to Nassau with the golf team tomorrow for a 
week and two days, during which time I am signed off at 
the office. I will send you my picture as an athlete when it 
appears. It does seem sort of a joke, doesn't it? 

Monk says, "Do not strike that man, he is fighting 
for Old Harvard." I hope that I can make good, and I 
expect to. 



Alpha Delta Phi Club, 

Dec. 15, 1907. 



The other evening Monk and I had dinner at the Mis- 
sion House. He was deeply impressed, to say the least, and 
really wants to go again. I guess he kept me up until one 
o'clock talking about Spence and Father Powell. It is an 
eye-opener to him. Monkisliving with us now. Moseisin 
Virginia — "bad eyes." 

Jan. 4, 1908. 

I DINED out here and have just returned from a free lec- 
ture on digestion at the Harvard Medical School!!! It was 
very interesting, but I am now afraid to eat or drink. Why 
we are able to live I don't see. This is the first of a very 
interesting series of lectures, which I shall not attend. 

I shall go in to see Spence tomorrow afternoon or morning. 
I have almost finished Dante's Inferno! It is like Shaler's * 

^ Professor Shaler of Harvard. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 73 

remark, "It goes in one ear, and, meeting with no particu- 
lar obstruction, goes out the other." I shall have to go 
through it again on the "low speed." You certainly have 
to "keep your eye on the ball" to understand that gentle- 
man. 

What with the Inferno and the remains of three trunks 
scattered over our room, I fear for the worst in my dreams 
tonight. . . . 

Jan. 8, 1908. 

Temp has got the grip, as well as a large hunk of meat 
gently torn from one of his feet. He is at Lexington suffer- 
ing. I shall try to get out to see him today. 

Before departing he depicted the beauties of the fair 
sex of the Queen City in such glowing terms to Mose that 
the aforesaid gentleman informs me that he is going to Cin- 
cinnati at Easter without fail. What is more he seems to be 
organizing an invading army totally unbeknown to me. It 
is at present composed of Huidekoper and Caspar Bacon. ^ 
They contemplate incidentally going to Lexington where 
they expect to purchase the thoroughbred and partake of a 
coon-hunt with Fritz Belmont.^ Isn't it nice to have your 
own party so carefully thought out? 

Cap. 

This arrangement has one advantage in that / may re- 
gret. Come soon. 

"Come soon," underlined, is typical of Caspar's appeals 
to our parents to come to him. Probably they did so, even 

' Caspar G. Bacon, Harvard, '08, became a major of field artillery, U.S.A. 
* Raymond Belmont, Harvard, '10, became a first lieutenant in the 78th Divi- 
sion, U.S.A. 



74 LETTERS OF 

if he had left them at home, only a week before, at the end 
of his Christmas recess. 

Lexington, Feb. g, 1908. 

I FINISHED Saturday, and I was jolly well glad to get 
through, I can tell you. I did well in my Fine Arts, but in 
my frenzy to avoid a disaster in this, I neglected my His- 
tory 16 with the result that I was stung, I fear. They re- 
fused to ask me any of the things I knew about. I spent 
hours explaining why Napoleon did such and such a thing 
when I had to take a guess on whether he had done it or 
not. It was in the words of the papers a "trying ordeal." 
The chump who made out the exam refused to ask ques- 
tions on the only book in the course which I knew anything 
about, that voluminous green book, which I carried about 
with me. I pinned my faith on that book alone, and I went 
down with it, I fear. I never did like the book anyway. I 
had such a miserable cold that I came out here with Temp, 
and Dr. Briggs has been having a grand time giving me 
pills, etc. 

Temp is twenty-one today. Festivities are in order; 
relatives, gold watches, etc. Dr. Briggs may well be proud 
of him. Without being priggish in any way he is the clean- 
est fellow, both in body and mind, that I know anywhere. 

His grandmother is here, and a wittier, more charming 
old lady I have never seen. 

I have spent the afternoon reading "The Newcomes." 
It certainly is delightful! Of course I don't know, but it 
seems to me that I get more "education" from Thackeray 
than from miles of books like that fatal green book in His- 
tory 16 (it isn't worthy to have a name). 

I enclose the exam along with a picture of me "at work," 
by Tempy. 

Cap. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 75 

I am "a very sick woman." I may come home if I can 
get signed off. 

Alpha Delta Phi Club, 

Mar. 13, 1908. 

I MET Spence at Dr. Goodale's this afternoon. We are 
both nearly O.K., so the Doctor says. Spence and I 
walked up Beacon Street to the Mission House where I 
had tea (and when I say tea, I mean tea, for it was Friday 
the 13th, in Lent, and I guess the cook knew it). 

I am going to tutor a fellow, my own age, in Latin. ^ 
As the slang expression goes, "What do you know about 
that?" I really think it will be good sport. He seems 
pretty thick, and I don't think he will ever learn enough 
Latin under my tutelage to find out the fact that I don't 
know any myself. I shall be very severe with him, for 
I thoroughly believe in the motto, "Spare the rod and spoil 
the child." He could lick me easily, but he "has got reli- 
gion," and humble is no fit description of him. Moreover, 
if the worm should turn, he looks clumsy and I think 
I could beat him to the monastery, where, like the knight 
of old, I should of course be safe. I do not, however, look 
for any such uprising. What I do fear is that he may learn 
more rapidly than I expect and start asking questions. 
He almost stumped me today on, "What is a transitive 
verb ? " If he gets too inquisitive I shall reply, " By advice 
of counsel, I refuse to answer." 

March 20, 1908. 

In the evening I heard Spence preach at St. Augustine's. 
He was good and perfectly natural. The only thing he 

* I provided him with this charity job. Nothing came of it but this witty 
letter. 



76 LETTERS OF 

needs to be really fine is to feel a little more self-confident. 
In music when a good performer strikes a distinctly bum 
note, he shakes his locks and everybody thinks it was a 
wonderful minor note. Father Powell has the art down to 
a very fine point, but Spence is lamentably weak. 

Tell Dad that he ought to be glad he was not there. He 
stuck the knife in and turned it around on me All Right, 
All Right. 

I returned to Cambridge tired out by the strain of the 
day, and promptly got into a very small poker game where 
in one hour I lost the last of my patrimony, which same was 
$5.00. Monk got ofi^ what I consider one of the most orig- 
inal lines I have ever heard. He had a large stack of chips 
before him all evening. Then he started losing, and when 
he got almost to the end he looked up and said, "Well, it 
looks as though the seven lean years are coming." . . . 

Today Spence came out and we went to Soldiers' Field 
and watched "Harvard's Tempy" perform, very poorly, 
I thought, but, as he disagrees on this, maybe I am wrong. 

April 3, 1908. 

I HAD an amusing experience with "our dear Dean" the 
other day. I got a call and you should have seen Robin- 
son's joy, as I have done nothing but tell him that he is 
"in serious danger of separation" ever since he has been 
put on probation. I was some worried myself, although I 
didn't see just what I had done. Imagine my relief when 
he told me that "As a representative of Harvard in inter- 
collegiate athletics," he was going to ask me not to cut any 
more than possible, as the Committee were examining the 
records of all the members of teams. Never have I seen 
anything more intense than Robinson's disappointment. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 77 

Tuesday, May, 1908. 

I WAS about to write you Sunday when the great Chel- 
sea fire broke out. Of my wonderful experiences at this fire 
I will tell you when I see you. It was without doubt the 
most tragic and exciting day and night I have ever spent. 

I had lunch at the Mission House, after which I went to 
Chelsea with Fr. Powell bearing much food and drink. 
I got so interested that I made a night of it and came in at 
seven this morning. This also was a fine experience which 
you shall hear about when I arrive. . . . 

Again he spent the summer in the woods. Father and 
Mother were there also, and part of the time they had as 
their guests Tempy and Pren Willetts. Caspar thor- 
oughly enjoyed that combination of Harvard and the 
woods. 

Senior Year 

Hampden Hall, Cambridge, 

Dec. I, 1908. 

Dear Mon, 

I am sending you the card of a dinner we gave to Pres. 
Eliot at The Fly the other evening. It was really a wonder. 
Pres. Eliot made a very stiff "speech," but you should 
have heard the talks which Bishop Lawrence, Major Hig- 
ginson, and particularly old Prof. Hill (Spence's friend) 
made us. He (Hill) got up and compared Eliot to the ex- 
plorer who started out to find the centre of Africa with six 
fur coats on and shed them one by one as he neared the 
centre. Then he said, "Eliot started to do his life-work 
with six coats on; he has shed them all but one. But I, 



78 LETTERS OF 

who was a classmate and 'brother' in this club with him, 
want to tell you what he is like with that one last over- 
coat off." Just why Eliot didn't slay him I don't know, 
but he really seemed pleased. The whole thing was a real 
treat in every way. 

I went to for Thanksgiving and had a miserable 

time. In the evening we went to a reception at . 

His wife is healthy, wealthy and amiable (when given her 
chance to say anything). I had a miserable time; I ate so 
much that I had cramps when I got home. I couldn't 
get to sleep, neither could Temp, so we sat up and talked, 
he, sentimental bosh and I, financial difficulties, until the 
wee hours. When we saw each other in the morning we 
both roared without saying a word. He went down to 
Philadelphia in the evening with "Lamb," to pursue the 
"royal family" (Wiborgs I mean). I am still grouchy and 
have a bad cold, so has Temp, so we sit and scowl at each 
other by the day, which helps a lot. 

Alpha Delta Phi Club, 

Dec. 8, 1908. 

Sunday evening we had dinner in Boston with Charlie 
Short. ^ He is more amusing than ever. For some reason, 
unknown to me, he always has to have a long consultation 
with the head waiter before he can order mashed potatoes, 
and when it comes to wine he really becomes eloquent. 
I offered to bet him $10 that he couldn't tell the differ- 
ence between American champagne at |2.oo per quart and 
French at $4.00, if he didn't see the labels on the bottles. 
He was greatly disgusted, but would not take the bet all 
the same. 

1 Charles Wilkins Short, Jr., Harvard, '08. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 79 

I am rehearsing for the Christmas play at the Pudding,^ 
in which I play the role of a "goody." I just noticed it 
myself that I am excruciatingly funny and in fact the 
whole show. I hope somebody will agree with me. 

Jan. 27, 1909. 

Sunday I wrote an entire thesis of twenty-eight pages 
and stayed up most of the night. I never put in a harder 
day's work, but to my surprise I picked rather an inter- 
esting subject. 

Monday night we gave our show at the Pudding (with 
variations). It was of course more appreciated there than 
in town. 

Yesterday evening I dined at the Wendell's with Bill 
and Gilbert Butler.^ Barrett was "simply ripping"; 
I can't put it too strongly how nice he was. Afterwards we 
gave the last performance at Jordan Hall. The hall was 
jammed and very appreciative, I thought. Everybody 
was presented with huge bunches of flowers, etc. After the 
show our company and all other performers went to the 
Victoria for supper bearing great bunches of flowers. To 
say that the greeting given us on our appearance, by a 
crowd of friends who happened to be there, was cordial, is 
to put it mildly. 

Mose is leaving at the Mid-years. My grief, as I told 
him, is considerably lessened by the fact that I shall then 
have (i) bedroom (i) all to myself. Talk about your 
oriental luxury! 

I will send you a program of the show. Monk says it is 
my debut into Boston high life. He refers to me as "that 
climber from somewhere in the Middle West." 

» The Hasty Pudding Club. * Gilbert Butler, Harvard, '09. 



8o LETTERS OF 

Chestnut Hill, Feb. 12, 1909. 

Well, the exams are all over ! . . . I am out at Temp's 
with a little grip, which Dr. Briggs is killing in great shape, 
but I felt pretty rotten yesterday. ... I am growing rather 
tired of Cambridge as a winter resort; I wish I had gradu- 
ated in a way, for I am doing nothing but loaf and get sore 
at the beastly cold weather. I am getting anxious really 
to get to doing something. 

This tragic outburst is not the work of a Byron, but of 
your son who has the grip, and feels like a vicious, snarling 
cur. In a way, however, it is a pleasure to be sick in a 
decent household where you get some sympathy. It is 
very different from being sick in the Club, I can tell you. 
In fact I am thoroughly enjoying a grouch in domestic 
surroundings. 

I re-read "Soldiers Three" yesterday. It is better than 
ever. All this talk about Kipling having the wrong ideal 
of the Indian Empire gives me a pain. Of course he has the 
wrong ideal, but he has caught and turned into literature 
this very same aspect, wrong though it may be. Kipling 
isn't writing political essays on the best way to govern 
India, he simply pictures the spirit of the Government as 
he saw it, and makes delightful pictures too. I think I 
have the examination habit. . . . 

Cambridge, Mar. ist, 1909. 

Well, the Wiborgs* have gone and "all is quiet along 
the Potomac." I really think they had a fine time and I 
know that I did. They got here at seven Friday morning; 

* Miss Mary Hoyt Wiborg and Miss Olga Wiborg, now Mrs. Sidney Fish, of 
New York. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 8i 

Mr. Wlborg came up with them as did Harriet Anderson.^ 
Tempy, Lamb, Henry Wilder and I chartered a huge auto- 
mobile and went in to meet them, after which we all had 
breakfast together at the Touraine. Then while they un- 
packed, etc., we went on a flower purchasing expedition. 
Then we came out to Cambridge where we wandered about 
awhile and then we went to Oakley, where we had lunch- 
eon. After sitting around awhile we went for a ride 
through Brookline and finally left them at the Touraine. 
We all had dinner at the Somerset Club as the guests of 
Mr. Burr, whom they knew well in Florence. Then we went 
to see Ethel Barrymore and then to the dance. 

The dance was really a wonder. I spent about an hour 
or so introducing anxious friends. It really was ridiculous 
how anxious everybody was to meet them, and inside of 
half an hour they knew everybody, I think. Then I took 
poor worn-out Mr. Wiborg over here to the Club and put 
him in a comfortable chair, talked about all sorts of stupid 
things and tried to be decent. I missed in this way most of 
the dance, but by keeping him company I was able to stall 
off the girls' departure until six o'clock in the morning, for 
which they seemed very thankful. 

Most of the day was spent in sleep, calls, etc., and Sun- 
day we went with them as far as Providence. Since when 
I have done little but sleep. . . . 

It was just like Caspar to have spent the evening intro- 
ducing his friends to these girls, and then making it possible 
for them to dance all night by keeping their father enter- 
tained at a club. 

^ Miss Harriet Anderson, of Cincinnati, now Mrs. Hugo de Fritsch, of New 
York. 



82 LETTERS OF 

March 31, 1909. 

We had a small dinner here Saturday night for Ned Bell,^ 
who is going abroad. 

Alpha Delta Phi Club, 

April 26, 1909. 

Sunday we watched the Squadron take their annual pa- 
rade down Fifth Avenue to Church, preceded by a large 
band. As everybody I knew in New York is in it, it was 
very amusing. George Wag says, "I may not be much on 
the drill, but under fire I am peerless." We (Jones, Monk, 
Suydam, Willetts and I) marched alongside of them, lined 
up with canes as another regiment. We got them laughing 
and all out of step. . . . 

[In this same letter Caspar writes of his hectic visit to 
Mrs. Wiborg in Washington. Editor.] 

Henry and I went over to Washington Thursday and 
arrived about nine in the evening. We had the most hectic 
time of my career! Wow; but the pace was fast. One 
morning by gulping a cup of very hot coffee I read half of 
one column in a newspaper, but that was the only time we 
weren't on the jump "en masse." Dancing, theatre, rid- 
ing, seeing Senate, etc., cards (poker for fun!), automobil- 
ing, breakfasting in the woods, wild games, baseball games, 
balloon ascensions, navy yards, private yachts, thousands 
of callers, white and yellow and Germans galore. Now 

* Edward Bell, Harvard, '04, as First Secretary of our Embassy in London 
during the War, arranged Caspar's transfer to the A.E.F. He wrote from the 
American Embassy in Tokyo after Caspar's death: "As you know I have always 
been very fond of him and the part he played in the War deepened that feeling 
into one of warm admiration. Any man who could enlist as a private soldier in a 
foreign army from a sense of duty to a cause has the real stuff in him, and Cap's 
action then and the courage and cheerfulness with which he bore his wounds 
showed him for what he was — a very gallant gentleman. May we all be able to 
lay claim to as much when our time comes." 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 83 

every one of the things happened in three days and most 
of them happened two or three times each day. I feel Hke 
a ship that has lost its propeller. 

The English language is incapable of describing such 
rapid action or the human brain of taking in any clear im- 
pression of it (mine was at least). 

Towards the end of the tumult Nat Simpkins ^ called me 
up and said that a card was awaiting me at the Army and 
Navy Club where he, Mose, and Bob Bacon ^ were seated 
in "three comfortable chairs" in a quiet room, with three 
long cool drinks in front of them and that both a fourth 
chair and drink were awaiting me. Just as this vision was 
soothing my tired brain I was summoned to a Virginia 
Reel!!! 

Lamb was all right, as he managed to wander off with 
Olga, but I was the butt of it all. I tried Lamb's trick with 
every girl there, but they all preferred the tumult to any 
such fate as that. I said to Henry one night just as he was 
about to drop asleep, "Henry, do you suppose that big 
wicker chair will be out on the porch in its old corner when 
we get back?" He sat up in bed and said, "Do you know 
that I thought of that on the picnic this afternoon, when 
a spider crawled up my back." 

They are a lovely family, though, one and all, and they 
have a magnificent house. I really did have a fine time, I 
suppose, but they put about one month's entertainment 
into three days. 

They had three butlers and other scavengers who drained 
me dry as a bone. I felt so tired that I could have read 
Wordsworth with pleasure. 

^ Nathaniel Stone Simpkins, Jr., Harvard, '09, became a captain of field ar- 
tillery, A.E.F. Died of pneumonia in France. 
* Robert Low Bacon, Harvard, '08, became a major of field artillery, U.S.A. 



84 CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 

May II, 1909. 

Temp has been sick here at the Club and I have been stay- 
ing with him, and have done the first work I have touched 
since Mid-years. I am getting really rather tired of loafing 
and anxious to get some real work, and doing some good. 
I have gotten about all that I am going to pull out of Cam- 
bridge. Although it is really pleasanter here than ever be- 
fore. . . . 

June 5, 1909. 

I HAVE just gone to my last recitation ! It is hard in a way 
to give up the best time in my life, but I am really rather 
anxious to start in earning my living, which by the way I 
suppose I won't be able to do for several years. I am doing 
no good here now and spending much more than I ought 
to spend, but it will soon be over. . . . 

My allowance would help a lot ! ! ! 



II 

IN BUSINESS? 

Directly after graduation Caspar and our parents joined 
me in England. I had gone to Oxford a year before to be- 
come a novice of the Society of St. John the Evangelist at 
the mother house of our order, Cowley St. John's, Oxford. 
As soon as I saw Caspar there I asked him my usual ques- 
tion, " What are you going to do now ? " There was a deter- 
mined and affectionate look in his eyes as he answered, 
"The hfe you have chosen rather settles my life too, doesn't 
it.^ I must go home and take care of 'the Family.' " 

He abhorred the idea of "settling down," of going into 
business, of being indoors at a desk, of doing the same thing 
every day, of seeing the same people every day — in short, 
routine and discipline. As a small boy he had run away 
from them. That was prophetic. 

At this time he gave one the impression of elegant and 
permanent leisure. He appreciated that himself, for he 
thoroughly enjoyed an inquiry of Father Waggett's,^ 
"And how is dear old Caspar? And is his work still done?" 

His work really was done, so far as business was con- 
cerned, before he began it. I often raised the subject that 
summer, during our weeks together in Oxford, Norfolk, 
the Isle of Wight and London, but Caspar never continued 
the conversation. Nevertheless he did go home as a matter 
of course and get a job. It was a misfit. Caspar was bored 
and did no work. Many people made a hasty decision that 
he was only a genial and witty loafer. He half agreed with 
them. 

Then he first began to think and to speak of himself as a 

1 Rev. P. N. Waggett, S.S.J.E., went out to France In August, 1914, as a chap- 
lain and became a major in the B.E.F. 



86 CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 

failure. Certainly he had been "a success" in College, but 
he found that friendliness, charm and generosity, divorced 
from industry and regularity, which had made him popular 
in Harvard, had no market value in the business world. It 
seems now a great pity that his first step in the work of life 
should have been in an uncongenial direction. Fortunately 
he did not go far on that path. He would never have felt at 
home in it. 

In the spring he, the Countess Camilla Hoyos, who was 
visiting at our house, and Father were exposed to rabies. 
They went at once to the Pasteur Institute in New York. 
There Caspar met, through the Countess Camilla, Dr. 
Frank Wood, the eminent bacteriologist. 

He interested Caspar immensely. By the end of the 
Pasteur treatment Caspar had decided to be a physician. 
It was as much of a surprise to him and to us all as when 
I had decided to be a priest. All of Caspar's enthusiasm, 
that had been in total eclipse during his "business career," 
flashed out. I wish I had kept the letter he wrote me about 
his decision. It was alive. He had already made up his 
mind to study chemistry that summer so that he could 
enter the Harvard Medical School in the autumn. He 
asked me to learn from Sir William Osier if he could study 
chemistry in Oxford that summer, for he wanted to be 
there with our parents and me. 

His letter showed that he was in earnest about becoming 
a physician, and it also unintentionally revealed that he 
was happy to have any excuse to return to Harvard. 

No letters written by him from June, 1909, to October, 
1 910, can be found. Probably he wrote almost none, for 
during that time he was with Father and Mother. 

That summer of 1910 he spent in England, mostly in 
London, to work there in a chemist's laboratory. 



Ill 

THE MEDICAL SCHOOL 

Oct. 3, 1910. 



Dear Mon, 



I REGISTERED this morning. Attended my first lecture 
in Anatomy by Dr. Warren. It in no way resembled "The 
Lesson in Anatomy " of fame. The course is very large and 
of every possible type. There are about twenty men who 
are dressed and look like gentlemen. There were many more 
who did not so dress, who looked equally fine, and there 
was about half the class who looked cheap and grasping. 
Lunt ^ fell on my neck and called me "old fellow." I was 
equally effusive and bought him lunch. We shall be great 
friends, I fear. ... 

161 Bay State Road, 

Oct. 7, 191 o. 

Well, I knew it would happen. I am coming here to live. 
And I am going to room with Laurie Lunt!! He has been 
here since the real opening of the School, and assures me it 
is very quiet, and if it is very quiet for him certainly will 
be for me. I am going to give it a good try at any rate. We 
have a beautiful house and we have a large room with a 
bay overlooking the Charles. 

I have not yet moved in. Came over here last night to 
give it a trial, and am now seated clothed in pajamas, which 
I asked for, writing this epistle. Please send on my desk, 

* Lawrence K. Lunt, Harvard, '09, became a major in the Medical Corps, 
A.E.F. 



88 LETTERS OF 

desk chair, that wicker armchair and bed Hnen, not to 
speak of my fur coat. The work is fast and furious, hotter 
than anything I ever dreamed of, but it's a great pleasure 
to be treated as if you had a few brains and some abihty. 
I have not the sHghtest feeling about skeletons, cadavers, 
or in fact any such thing any more than I have ever had for 
any dead animal. A large per cent turn pale and a few 
faint. I rejoice that I feel the way I do, but I don't think 
that it is a thing to treat with an air of bravado. It be- 
comes horrible if that is done. It is all made easy by the 
fact that Professor Warren (you remember I dined with 
him in London) is such a complete gentleman. 

I went into the Mission House the other evening and had 
dinner. Fr. Powell was more charming than ever. . . . 

Now, as near as I can see there is absolutely no reason 
why it wouldn't be a good plan for you to come on here 
at any time. As far as I am concerned it will help, in that 
I would enjoy it enormously, and if we should work things 
intelligently I think it would actually aid my work. 

i6i Bay State Road. 

Now as to the next proposition. I have looked fairly well 
at this game here, and there is absolutely no reason why 
you should not come on here. I cannot conceive of any 
way in which it would not be of the greatest help to me. 
My reasons for wanting you to come on here are two-fold. 
The first set are purely selfish. I would love to have you 
in the first place; in the second place it would help me in 
my work in every way. Also I believe it would do you all 
kinds of good. You would make many friends here "who 
speak your language." . . . This I think would do you more 
good than anything in the world. I also think it would be 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 89 

a pleasure to see me doing something which is worth while 
and which you approved of. Think and talk this over very 
seriously. You see the work is so strenuous during the day 
that it is next to impossible to work all evening — for me at 
least. Ordinary evenings I work about an hour and a half; 
I only put on more steam on occasions. This is about up 
to my limit. This would give us quite a good deal of time 
together . . . 

I AM hoping you are better. Do let me know. Everything 
goes on with great speed here. I like it better and better 
each day. And still everybody here tells me they look back 
on their first half year as on a horrible nightmare. Part of 
the work is deadly stupid, part is very interesting, and it is 
a great pleasure even to attempt to use your intellect while 
you are working. Everybody works; the competition is 
frightful, but good fun. 

I am very glad I have moved here; I believe it's a fine 
thing to get out of the atmosphere of the School for a short 

time each day. L and I have agreed not to talk work 

while at meals, or on our way to and fro. . . . 



When I was sick L was pretty nearly as bad as Fa- 
ther is. He "meant as well " as he possibly could. I really 
believe he is as splendid a man as you would want to find; 
he is clean, manly, forgiving, but he has not one slightest 
atom of a sense of humor. He is the very highest type of 
Yale gentleman. 

When we are working, and by the way he is the best per- 
son to work with I have ever struck, and when we are walk- 
ing home or to the School together, it somehow or other 
seems to happen that I invariably think of the most amus- 



90 LETTERS OF 

ing things to say which have ever entered my head. I have 
given it all up, it is too chilling. I write them on my cuff 
and save them for somebody else, and continue talking 
about politics or athletics. 

I really like the work; it is more and more interesting. 

I think less and less of my class-mates, particularly the 
prominent ones. I have discovered several very meek-look- 
ing individuals who will be very fine men some day. There 

is a man named in my section. As we were walking 

along in the School he said to me, "Say, every time I look 
at these buildings they look sweller to muh." Needless to 
say he is as bright as chain-lightning in his work. 

You ask me of the men here. They are all pleasant. 
Henry Wilder, Dan Sortwell,^ John Simons ^ in my class, 
Don Nichols, '06,^ Goodhue, '06,^ Horace Gade, '03,^ a Nor- 
wegian, and Austin Gill,^ are very nice and the others are 
not aggressive. It is pleasant here, but I wish you were on. 
It would make me completely happy. 

I never have seen such a change as there is at Harvard, 
as I see it through the eyes of The Fly. Under Lowell every 
one seems so much more active — a new-born desire to have 

1 Daniel R. Sortwell, Harvard, '07, became a lieutenant (junior grade) in the 
U.S. Naval Reserve Force. 

2 John W. Simons, Harvard, '09, became a captain in the Ordnance Depart- 
ment, A.E.F. 

* John D. Nichols, Harvard, '06, became a captain of infantry, A.E.F. 

* Francis A. Goodhue, Harvard, '06, was on the Committee on Camps and 
Cantonments under the Secretary of War, later U.S. Delegate to London and 
Paris on the Inter-AUied Committee on War Purchases and Finance, and finally 
a member of the Financial Section of the American Commission to Negotiate 
Peace, Paris and Germany. 

* Horace Gade, Harvard, '03, became a lieutenant (junior grade), in the U.S. 
Naval Reserve Force. He was the Assistant Naval Attache to the American 
Legation at both Christiania and Copenhagen and also at the Office of the War 
Trade Board Representative, London. 

* Austin G. Gill, Harvard, '06, became a captain of field artillery, A.E.F. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 91 

the Club stand for activity amongst the whole undergrad- 
uate body. Such unity of purpose was unheard of before. 
The old idea of "O, well, I shouldn't do that, but if you 
want to do it, it's none of my business," simply does not 
exist. . . . Tell Charlie he is an ass and I would love to see 
him. 



Things go on much the same here. I have one bad bit of 
news; I am a wretched dissector. Of all the clumsy people 
I have ever seen I am the clumsiest. I am either timid, 
afraid to cut at all, or else I hack away with a boldness 
which no structure in the human body can withstand. 
However, it is like the reports from Franklin on my hand- 
writing, "Poor, but improving." This has been a "hack- 
ing day," so I am through early; on my timid days I return 
of an evening. A funny part about the whole thing is that 
it is not the least bit grewsome. It ought to be like Poe, but 
it's more like the Scientific American, except the smell, 
which is terrible. 

I was thinking last night of a terrible part of Swift's 
Gulliver's Travels (not the children's edition). Gulliver is 
in the land of the giants. At the Court he is a great curi- 
osity. The great beauty of the Court picks him up and 
holds him near her face so that she can see him. He then 
sees that her face, which to her people appears soft and lily 
white, is really a mask of minute hairs, etc., etc. {a la 
Swift), invisible to their colossal eyes. It is one of the bit- 
terest satires that even Swift ever wrote. It seems to me 
that the more charitable way to look on it is as a great 
Gothic Church; made up of a great mass of complications, 
none of them beautiful in themselves, but forming a mag- 
nificent whole. 



92 LETTERS OF 

Here is one on Lunt. I said, "O for the good old days 
when we called the whole region from our chest to our legs 
simply 'guts.'" He replied, "Then why do you want to 
study medicine if you feel that way about it?" 

Most of these letters are undated, but they all were writ- 
ten before Christmas, 1910. By that time his repeated 
appeals to Father and Mother to come to Boston so that 
he might live with them had had the effect he desired. 

Throughout his life he usually made his plans without 
respect to them; then, both by letters and telegrams, he 
besought them to join him. These affectionate S.O.S. calls 
were genuine, flattering and irresistible. From December, 
1910, until his death Father and Mother were either with 
him or planning to go to him. For three winters they had 
houses in Boston to make a home for him; during the three 
years he was in the North they were constantly planning 
to go to him "when the ice breaks," and he had been "in 
the War" only a few months when his appeals drew them 
to England. There they remained until after the Armi- 
stice. They did not "run after him," as some people 
thought; they merely tried to keep up with his adventur- 
ous life in response to his loving appeals. 

During the winter of 1910-11 they three had a small 
furnished house on Exeter Street. All Caspar's days were 
spent at the Medical School, but in the evening he and 
Mother shared with each other their Boston friends, old 
and new. The friends of each became the friends of both, 
and then Father's. Caspar once said to me, "Mother 
makes our friends and Dad keeps them for us." 

In speaking that winter of a cousin, Mabel MacLeod 
Hammond, and her family (the Franklin T. Hammonds, of 
Cambridge), Caspar said, "There is a crying need for 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 93 

more relations like the Hammonds. When you go to see 
them they are glad to see you and you have a splendid 
time. When you stay away for months at a time they 
never get their feelings hurt." 

During that winter Caspar and our parents had the joy 
in common of frequently going to the opera. Caspar was 
always fond of music. Although his "practising" as a 
child was comic and soon given up as hopeless, he had 
always heard good music at home, at concerts, and when- 
ever grand opera was within his reach, in Cincinnati, New 
York and Paris. 

Never before had he the opportunity to go to the opera 
several times each week. This was made possible for him 
at that time by Mrs. Wirt Dexter's standing invitation to 
Caspar to join her in her opera box. Caspar took her so 
literally at her word that, when he bought seats for some 
special performance, he told her she owed him the $10.00 
he had paid for them. He not only enjoyed the opera with 
her, but during that winter they formed an intimate and 
lasting friendship. 

Listening to great music was one of Caspar's chief joys 
also during the summer of that year, 191 1. He went with 
Father and Mother to England to be near me in Oxford. 
Our intimate friend from Cincinnati, Mrs. Thomas, his 
devoted "Aunt Georgine," had the old Newman house at 
Iffly that summer. Caspar was constantly there with her, 
perched on the end of her piano bench, listening by the 
hour to her music. He usually asked for Beethoven, and 
when she turned to other composers he would ask for 
Beethoven again. 

I remember them enjoying Beethoven together espe- 
cially that summer at Goring-on-Thames. Father and 
Mother and the Countess Camilla Hoyos took a charm- 



94 LETTERS OF 

ing house there for the few weeks I could be with them. 
Everything there was peaceful, and suggested quiet grace 
and permanent beauty. It would have been impossible 
to believe that Caspar and Harry Byng/ who played golf 
together every morning, would soon be killed in a world 
war. Even then there were violent, although purely aca- 
demic, discussions of international problems. Caspar often 
told Camilla afterwards that she had been the first person 
to explain to him why he instinctively detested Germans 
by her denunciations of what we have since learned to call 
Prussianism. Although an Austrian she loved most her 
mother's country, England. There Caspar first knew her, 
and even during and after the War kept up an intimate 
friendship with her. 

She had visited us in Cincinnati in 1910. In the winter 
of 1911-12 she was one of the many interesting friends 
Mother had as guests at 386 Beacon Street. Caspar's inti- 
mate friend, Charles W. Short, Jr., was spending the win- 
ter at our house. Caspar was fond of them both as friends 
and apparently never noticed that they were in love with 
each other. That was a relationship that always surprised 
him. As his friends became engaged and married he was 
always at a loss to know how to account for it or what to 
say to them. He wrote to Charley, on hearing of his en- 
gagement to Camilla, "I don't know if you will be happy, 
but I am sure you will never be bored." 

The following letter illustrates Caspar's amusing igno- 
rance on the subject: 

' Harry Gustav Byng, Harvard, '13, enlisted private, British Army, August, 
1914; promoted second lieutenant. King's Own Scottish Borderers, B.E.F., 
March, 1915; wounded March 16, 1915, near Festubert, France; died of wounds 
May 18, 1915, in a field hospital. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 95 

386 Beacon Street, 
Feby. 14th, 191 2. 

Dear Temp, 

When numerous friends have told me of their engage- 
ments I have always tried to say something suitable to a 
great dramatic moment. I have tried all methods of con- 
gratulation, from a speech in the Lunt manner to satirical 
quips; all have been dismal failures, I have always said the 
wrong thing. However, I shall try again. 

I am glad (I am generally sorry). In the first place you 
are really cut out to make a good husband. You always 
were destined for a married life. You 've pushed a few bells 
too in your day, but even that you did with a sort of do- 
mestic touch. You were the only person I felt perfectly 
sure would marry. 

Now you have got the right girl for you, and, last but 
not least, for me. I don't often take a fancy to a girl on 
first sight, but I surely did to her. I said to Henry shortly 
afterwards that I thought you had gumption enough to 
try to get her, but you sort of had me guessing. 

Of course I will usher for you. Why shouldn't I ? You 
could only have avoided my ushering by not asking me, 
and I am not so sure that that would have been effective. 

Maybe I could get out for a day during the Easter holi- 
days. I saw Mose the other day. He looked fine. 

Is Wilder to be an usher? Will he have the nerve to pose 
as a single man ? 

Don't mark this E, but consider It the earnest effort of 
a poor little boob to congratulate you on a happiness 
which he knows nothing whatever about. 

Lovingly, 

Cap. 

I will write to Ruth Card when I find out where she Is. 



9$ LETTERS OF 

During his first year in the Medical School and up until 
January of 191 2 Caspar did brilliant work in spots. Some 
subjects interested him and he got A's in them. Some sub- 
jects bored him and he got E's in them. One wonders if he 
would ever have tackled his medical course seriously as 
a whole. 

Early in January, 191 2, he had to have an operation for 
an acute attack of appendicitis. He seemed to make a 
rapid recovery, but he was not well enough by the first of 
February to go over to New York with Father and Mother 
to meet me on my return to America. Shortly before, after 
five years in the noviciate of the Society of St. John the 
Evangelist, I had made my profession for life as a Reli- 
gious. Caspar's cable to me on that occasion was charac- 
teristic. He understood and admired my motives for enter- 
ing Holy Religion, but when it came time for me to "take 
the veil," as he merrily expressed it, he did not cable any 
bromidic message of "congratulations and love," but the 
one word "Enfin." 

When he was supposed to be too ill to travel to New 
York to welcome me back to America you can irnagine our 
surprise to have him board our train at Providence. He 
had to come part way to meet me, doctors or no doctors. 
In spite of a huge fur coat he caught cold that zero day 
that developed into tonsillitis. Germs migrated from his 
tonsils to a valve of his heart and there proceeded to settle 
down and raise a family. I cannot describe his case medi- 
cally, but I know he was flat on his back until June. He 
was at the Beacon Street house and in several hospitals. 
Among the many things that were done to him his tonsils 
were taken out. Before the operation I remember I asked 
him if he wanted the Sacraments. He answered, "Hea- 
vens, No. This doesn't amount to anything. If it were 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 97 

serious I should want everything you or any priest could do 
for me." Then with a twinkle in his eyes he added, "I'm 
afraid you can't stage a proper Catholic deathbed this 
time, Spencey." 

He did not seem critically ill at any time that winter or 
spring, but he and we all knew that his heart was seriously 
damaged. As he became ill before the Mid-year examina- 
tions he had lost a whole year's work at the Medical School. 

To start in again with the second year's work, in the 
autumn of 191 2, was discouraging. He was not really well. 
Also, he seemed to have lost interest. 

Dr. John Mason Little, a friend of mine who had spent 
several years in the North with Dr. Grenfell, happened to 
be in Boston on a vacation at that time. Although Father, 
Mother and Caspar were settled for the winter at 7 Chest- 
nut Street, Caspar decided, after several talks with Dr. 
Little, to offer himself to Dr. Grenfell for work in the 
North until the opening of the Medical School in the fall of 
1 91 3. His heart seemed to be up to the trip and the work, 
for it "had established compensation." He needed also 
a fresh enthusiasm to carry him through the long grind of 
preparing to be a physician. So in November of 191 2 he 
set out for St. Anthony, Newfoundland. Father went with 
him as far as St. John's. From there on his own letters tell 
his story. 



I 



Ill 

THE LABRADOR 
1912-1915 



1 



I 

FIRST IMPRESSIONS 

Nov. 191 2. 
The Log of the " Prosper© " or 6 (?) Days on the English 
Channel. 

Dear Mon, 

Father will tell you what it looked like when we left 
St. John's. Well, when we got out it was just one degree 
rougher than anything I have ever seen. She didn't pitch 
or roll, she was " buffeted." We only hit the high spots 
and very few of those. Do you know Kipling's Ballad of 
the Bolivar where "Half the rails adeck awash, all the 
rails below." Well, we had no rails, but huge barrels of 
oil, molasses and beef make an excellent substitute. 

I say with some pride that I never turned a hair, why 
I don't know. But listen to this, there was not one passen- 
ger who missed or even thought of missing a meal! To go 
through that and not be able to gloat over anybody is 
what I call tough luck. 

In the evening we put into Cape de Verde and lay there 
all night, as even in the harbor it was too rough to launch 
the boats to take ashore passengers. 

Yesterday (Saturday) we went to Trinity where Dr. 
Armstrong ^ and I left the ship. We spent several hours 
there with some friends of his and drove across a neck of 
land on sleds to King's Cove (eighteen miles) where we met 
the boat. This morning we have been making pretty good 
time with several short stops. 

* Dr. Armstrong was then in charge of the St. Anthony's Hospital. He died in 
service, during the War, at Malta. 



102 LETTERS OF 

So much for the log. 

I will say without hesitation that I have never had as 
good a time on the water. Dr. Armstrong is just about the 
most companionable man I have ever met. We have hit it 
off from the word go. Here he is brilliant, married, rich, 
leaving his practice and wife for the fifth winter. There are 
plenty of people who might do that, but very few who 
would not be "noble" about it. He is simplicity itself and 
you can see in about five minutes the kind of man he is by 
the way these fishermen beam on him. The Captain! He 
looks so like Mr. Irving ^ that it is startHng,with the same 
twinkle in his eye. He and I have played about fifty games 
of checkers, during which he sings very loudly the entire 
time. Friday evening when we were lying at anchor play- 
ing checkers the boat was jumping so that the "men" 
slipped over the board. He called to the Chief Engineer, 
who was playing poker, " Chief! let's ease up around to the 
other side of the pint, there ain't no comfort here." 

Having done this we went to the saloon and had a con- 
cert. It was the real thing. Everybody bellowed, not for 
applause, but simply because they liked it. As you may 
imagine they sang "Old Black Joe," "Way Down upon 
the Swanee River," "My Old Kentucky Home," "March- 
ing Through Georgia," etc. With the decks covered with 
ice and the snow driving by, the selections seemed a bit 
out of place, but the sadder they were the louder they sang. 
The Captain always started the tune saying to the man at 
the piano, "Very good; wallop her." . . . 

I shall stop now to join in some hymn singing. "Das 
SchifF" in Tristan had nothing on this craft as far as the 
quantity or volume of song. This Captain, who will leave 

1 Andrew Irving, Esq., of Ogdensburg, New York, and the Pontiac Game 
Club. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 103 

the bridge apparently at any time for song or game, is sup- 
posed to be the cleverest man in the North with ice. He 
takes the "Stephano," which Father saw, up into the Arc- 
tic ice for seals, wherever that may be, every winter and is 
the only man who will or can do it. 

Wednesday. 

We have just been crawling up the coast and I fancy it 
will be Saturday before we get to St. Anthony. 

The beauty of this coast is beyond my powers of descrip- 
tion. Everywhere are cliffs; there is scarcely a break. All 
the little streams, of which there are thousands, run along 
the edge of these stone walls and then proceed to drop into 
the ocean or else become one gigantic icicle. It seems as if 
these streams had tried for centuries to enter the ocean in 
the proper way, but had finally given up the attempt to cut 
a gorge for themselves as hopeless. It is impossible to give 
you even a vague idea of the peculiar fascination of the place. 

We have been invited ashore to meals several times when 
in harbor. The people are charming. They are at the op- 
posite pole from a Maine "Captain." They have no sense 
of humor, but in all other respects are a big improvement 
on the New Englander. 

We now have aboard two Church of England parsons. 
Would that I were a Sterne! One is very "High" and the 
other very "Low." 

"High" has just returned from England, about which 
he is the greatest living authority. He is bent upon uphold- 
ing the dignity of the Church. He uses very long words of 
Latin derivation, which he strings together into sentences 
of great length. He is of an argumentative turn of mind, 
very "exact" in all his statements, and singularly misin- 
formed. When I tell you that he carries with him a Green- 



I04 LETTERS OF 

wich chronometer in a mahogany case when he travels and 
that he "checks" this with a "sidereal" sun dial you can 
guess the type of bore he is. When with non-nautical peo- 
ple he discourses on navigation, and when with non-medi- 
cal people he talks of the "wonders of modern surgery," 
as "I saw it at Guy's, Sir." 

"Low" has striven to be "Rough and ready." He is 
studiously untidy. He smokes the blackest plug tobacco 
and tells with great bravado stories with "Damn" and 
*' Hell " in them. He values " horse sense," but thinks book 
learning overrated. 

They are polite to each other in that ghoulish way in 
which ladies who hate each other are polite. 

Both of these men have been ruined by failure. Being 
poor and living in this climate has brought out the worst in 
both of them instead of the best. 

The more I see of Dr. Armstrong the better I like him. 
He is one of the type who has made the British Empire. 
Instead of settling down at home, he has tried about every- 
thing. He has always tried things in a British way, but he 
has been more places and done more things than almost 
anybody I know. A rolling stone may gather very little 
moss, but it sees a good deal of the country. He has been 
fine, and says that he is going to appoint himself my boss. 

The scenery gets grander and grander as we approach 
home. 

I will leave this letter on board and send another by the 
boat when she calls at St. Anthony. 

Do not figure on this boat leaving or getting anywhere 
at set times. Just send anything along and trust to luck. 

The telegraph operator is on board. The station at St. 
Anthony will be open in a couple of weeks more or less. 

Cap. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 105 

St. Anthony, Nfld, 
Dear Mother, 

I HAVE just time to write you a few lines. Never have I 
met more fascinating people. Just how the general tone 
of this place could be improved I do not know. Dr. Gren- 
fell ^ is even more charming than I had pictured him. I 
have put in a very busy day. Owing to a great lack of doc- 
tors and nurses I am posing, Dr. Armstrong's orders, as 
Doctor Burton. I have worked all day in the operating- 
room and etherized at two of the operations. . . . 

The hospital is crowded and Dr. Grenfell looks all in, but 
is the most buoyant man I have ever seen. 

You can walk across the harbor on the ice and dog teams 
are everywhere. 

My quarters are palatial and Dr. Armstrong has fixed it 
up so that I am to have my meals with him instead of with 
the mob. 

Do not think that I am trying to fool people here. Dr. 
Armstrong quizzed me from A to Z and then with a wink 
dubbed me his assistant. 

There is a boat due in a few days. So I will write again. 

Hurriedly, 

Cap. 

Sunday, December lo, 1912. 

I AM going to try to keep a sort of diary; this you may 
like to read, and I think I may find it amusing in years to 
come. . . . 

On Sunday afternoon we went to the hospital and had a 
service for all the patients. Dr. Grenfell gave a little talk 
which I consider the most perfect Christian talk it has ever 
been my good fortune to listen to. In the evening we went 

^ Dr. Grenfell became a major in the R.A.M.C. 



io6 LETTERS OF 

to the Methodist Church where Dr. Grenfell conducted 
the service, as the pastor was away. He did this equally- 
well. . . . 

Dr. Grenfell is very different from all descriptions of 
him. He is primarily an overgrown boy. He is very enthu- 
siastic one minute and depressed the next, and takes no 
pains to conceal either condition of mind. 

Now I am not a hero worshipper, in the Carlyle sense, 
but this man has one quality raised to the nth power. He 
literally sheds pleasure. Whoever he meets leaves him 
feeling more optimistic than before. I believe that Dr. 
Grenfell loves his neighbor in a simple boyish way more 
than anybody I have ever seen. This is the secret of his 
great power. 

Monday. 

Late yesterday night a man died of T.B., which is the 
curse of this country. Dr. Grenfell is such a Believer that 
he looks on the matter of "A man's body dying" in about 
the same way that Fr. Field ^ does. We did a P.M. and 
then went off rabbit shooting for the day — Dr. Grenfell, 
Grant,^ three men who live in St. Anthony and L 

Komatiking, or dog-sledging, has become my passion. 
It gives you the feeling of being in danger while you are 
perfectly safe. I have not an idea of how fast we went, but 
I don't think I ever went so fast in a runabout or rig of 
any sort. And the steering arrangements are crude, to put it 
mildly. We tramped on snowshoes all day after we left the 
dogs. This was also excellent sport. And Dr. Grenfell! 
He was as happy as a school-boy getting an unexpected 
holiday on account of the sudden death of the principal's 

1 Rev. C. N. Field, S.SJ.E. 

* Gordon Grant, Harvard, '14, became a captain of field artillery, A.E.F. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 107 

wife. My outfit kept me perfectly warm and comfortable. 
Anything woolen is useless. Canvas and skins make you 
perfectly comfortable. 

Tuesday, 12th. 
I HAVE been on the jump in the hospital all day. Every- 
thing has gone badly. Every patient seems determined to 
have fever. Dr. G. "lit into a man" who was moaning. 
The man stopped. I went across the harbor with Dr. A. 
We found a girl in hysterics. She was artificially making her 
mouth foam. Dr. A. said to her, when we were alone, "Sit 
up, you can't fool me." She did. She then said she "warn't 
bein' treated right " and called Mrs. Tilley, her boss, names. 
Then Mrs. Tilley called her names, then Dr. A. told them 
both to shut up. Mr. T. walked along with us in silence, 
then he said, "Well, Doctors, they'se both women and they 
don't somehow like each other. They'se genrilly Hell to 
pay when that's the case, ain't there now, Doctor?" 

Wednesday. 

In hospital all day. Two operations O.K. I spent the 
evening with Dr. Grenfell at his house doing some blood 
counts, etc. He was using some of my blood for a trial. He 
made a mistake in arithmetic and got a terribly high count. 
He then looked in a book and turned to me and said, "I 
am sorry to break the news to you, but the book says 'such 
a condition is found only in pregnancy.'" Mrs. Grenfell 
said, "Wilf!" and the pretty, English governess blushed. 

Thursday, 17th. 

Dr. G. has got the scientific bee in his bonnet for the time 
being. He and I have spent the entire day doing perfectly 
useless things in the laboratory while Dr. Armstrong has 



io8 LETTERS OF 

been able to get the hospital straightened out. Dr. Gren- 
fell has made me sick laughing. When we weren't able 
to get a certain stain right, he counted out "eenye, meeny, 
miney, mo" down a line of bottles and tried the one he 
came to. The slide was ruined. 

Dr. Armstrong and I have made a list of provisions which 
we are sending to St. John's for. It will chew up most of 
my money, I fancy. He is of a very donative nature and 
keeps producing gifts from his dozen trunks for the nurses. 

Friday. 

In hospital all day. Dr. G. is growing tired of "science." 
He forced himself to it this morning, but has just gone off 
with a dog team to have a "mug up" (tea) with some 
crony of his across the bay. 

I am eating like a horse and enjoying it, why I don't 
know, as the food is well below par. 

Saturday. 

We took out an eye. We had some trouble getting this 
man etherized this time, although he went under easily a 
week ago. After we had given him a whole can he mur- 
mured, "It don't seem to work. Doctor, although it tastes 
just as goodr 

I had dinner at the Grenfells'. We (the editorial we) will 
have to concede more and more to Mrs. Grenfell.^ She has 
rare tact and sense. She never talks about the hospital or 
work and appears to take no interest. She does a lot of good 

^ Mrs. Grenfell writes from St. Anthony after Caspar's death: "From every 
one of Caspar's friends along the coast as I came up, and now on arrival, I hear the 
same story of real personal grief in the loss of him and of genuine appreciation of 
what he was and did. The people are very simple about it all, but you can see the 
place that 'Dr. Burton' had won for himself in their hearts. They all say, 'He 
always told us he was coming back again after the war.' Anyhow, his spirit has 
come back and the fishermen won't forget him any more than we shall." 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 109 

without trying to get the credit of doing any. This species 
of human is a "rara avis." 

Miss is very pretty, every inch a lady, and well ed- 
ucated. I kept thinking, 'Here is all the stage set for a real 
romance. The lady knows nothing of your past. With a 
little effort, old boy, you might appear a pretty fine sort of 
chap. You might even, after things had gone a certain dis- 
tance, tell of what a wild devil you had been, and let her 
think she had reformed you.* . . . But she is both sweet 
and shy. Either of those traits alone would hopelessly 
cramp my style and the combination bores me to tears. 
Why didn't she stay in England and be the poor Vicar's 
daughter.'' 

Sunday, r^th. 

I HELPED do dressings all morning. These poor fellows, 
most of them with rotting T.B. joints, are all splendia 
chaps. They have great pluck. The women, of whom there 
are only a few, are more unattractive than I can tell. 

After service we komatiked over to the reindeer herd. A 
cow bears the same relation to a gazelle that a reindeer 
does to a cow. ... I was led to believe by Miss Howard, 
Miss Furness, Miss Merrywether ^ and other misinformed 
ladies, that the deer was a wild animal and the dog a do- 
mestic pet. A dog slept at Mr. Brown's feet after he had 
done his day's work while a deer sprang through a dense 
forest. I had to give up all these ideas. A reindeer, of 
which there are thousands, apparently, appears to be half- 
way under the influence of ether. When he sees a choice 
morsel he has to think quite a while before he can decide 
whether it is worth while to make the effort to reach for it. 
A child could ride one, but would soon scream for the ex- 
citement of "ride a cock horse." 

* His teachers in the primary grades. 



no LETTERS OF 

A komatik dog, on the other hand, sprang from a differ- 
ent stock from the peaceful hound of Mr. Brown. If you 
feel so inclined, you single the smallest one out from the 
lot, you pat it with one hand while you hold in the other an 
axe at half-cock. So far I have contented myself with stay- 
ing outside the radius of their traces and throwing them 
food. 

Monday, i6th. 

Poor Dr. Armstrong is terribly homesick. My happi- 
ness palls on him, so I am going to give up L' Allegro and 
adopt II Penseroso when I am with him. I like him better 
and better. He is very conceited and takes any stray com- 
pliment which comes his way like a child takes ether. 
He is beautifully British! He thinks America above other 
nations, but second class because Americans are not pure 
Anglo-Saxons. I like him for treating me as a real friend 
and telling me what he thinks. I have made some remarks 
about England which / thought very sharp and unusually 
clever. You might just as well try to shoot a rhino with a 
pea-shooter. 

The two nurses, Miss Bryce ^ and Miss Cannon,^ are 
both English, although trained in New York. Miss Cannon 
has the heart of a Saint with the manner of a Sally Brass. 
She even carries the keys of the storerooms at her girdle (a 
region mentioned in novels but not in anatomies). She 
seems to carry around a placard, "There is no nonsense 
about me." And my ! how that female works ! I believe she 
must sleep, but when, I don't know. I was up till 3.30 

* Miss Bryce, now Mrs. Alexander MacRae, of Northumberland, England, 
writes: "I am so thankful I had that wonderful year in St. Anthony with him. 
There wasn't a thing about him that wasn't grand. No one could have behaved 
more splendidly and I think I was perhaps the only person there who knew just 
what he was doing." 

2 Miss Cannon, of Stamford, Connecticut. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. iii 

the other morning. She was still full of "pep" when I 
crawled into bed. When I stumbled on the job at 8.30 (in 
the dark) she had already done a day's work. She had me 
guessing for a few days. I finally caught her, however. 
Behind a screen I caught her hugging and kissing the most 
unlovely child who answers, or rather snarls, to the name 
of Baxter. She blushed, and explained, but I have her 
number now and she knows it. I expect to catch her 
sleeping, or touching a sterile instrument before I leave. 

Tuesday. 
Miss Bryce is easy to look upon. She is also pleasant 
on all occasions. She is really a brick. When she gets 
some time off she takes it, and is very good fun. She has 
also stopped medical talk at meal-times, which was getting 
rather crude. I was getting a little too much of it myself. I 
know how Kipling felt in the " Three Decker " when he says 
"They never talked obstetrics when the little stranger 
came." Miss Bryce is O.K. Anybody would like her. She 
reminds me a bit of Mary Grosbeck.^ 

Wednesday, iSth. 

I HAVE just finished a book called "Brain and Personal- 
ity," by Thompson. He attempts to deal in an elementary 
and too diagrammatic way with a very complex subject. 
But it is stimulating reading. Read it. . . . 

If I never give away a penny to a blind man I will never 
send anything I have no use for to a mission. If I can't buy 
an article and send it with the price mark on it I won't send 
it. All the perfectly useless things in the world are here in 
St. Anthony. There are eight million second-class books, 
there are half- worn clothes; there are hundreds of Victor 

* Miss Mary Grosbeck, of Cincinnati, now Mrs. Daniel Riker, of New York. 



112 LETTERS OF 

records which were bought by people who must have been 
blind drunk when they bought them. Amongst these I 
found one Caruso record and one Gadski record. When I 
tried them the first had one large crack and the second had 
two. The rest are English sentimentals, naval songs, hymns 
by the Trinity choir, funny songs, recitations, both comic 
and sentimental, and real coon songs sung by Cockneys. 

Most people have the wrong idea. They think that be- 
cause a person is in a mission they want hymns on the Vic- 
tor and articles about a mission in Timbuctoo. If we were 
not fed upon that sort of thing we might be mildly inter- 
ested in either. What you really want is some sensuous 
Italian music sung by Caruso and a nice mauve edition of 
Oscar Wilde. At home you might prefer a good Bach 
Mass, and you certainly would prefer Thomas a Kempis, 
or in fact almost any other known form of literature to 
Oscar Wilde. 

I have been led to believe that there are people who have 
been good so long that it becomes a habit with them; that 
they only like noble thoughts and deeds; that to be good 
becomes actually a pleasure to them. I don't believe this. 
I once read, in printed notes, about a man named Heracli- 
tus who held that all life and matter consists in change. As 
I found that he had written very little I read what he did 
write. He said that the only reality of life, the only thing 
of which we could be sure, was "flux." 

All great historians and sociologists (there are one or two 
with whom I am not well acquainted) see in history the 
pendulum swinging. In this the aforesaid illustrious men 
have me on their side. This view of life is the one always in 
my mind, when I think of any event from Napoleon to the 
Becker trial. But it is a dangerous view to take and it is ex- 
cellent fun to sit and watch the pendulum swing. But I am 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 113 

beginning to think that possibly it is also good sport to 
keep the pendulum away from a certain side. If you want 
to keep a pendulum away from one side and on the other 
the thing to do is to wait until it has reached the highest 
point on the objectionable side and then hit it. Striking it 
as it comes toward this side is pretty ineffective. As an 
example take the Becker incident. It would have been use- 
less to try to clean up New York when it wasn't very bad. 
It would have been wasted effort, but just now is the time 
to shove the pendulum back and then throw sand on the 
track hoping to let the pendulum swing back slowly. 

Now aren't people singularly like their institutions? 
Who makes the best Christian, for example? A man who 
hasn't been very keen and gradually improves little by 
little or a man who gets hit or allows himself to get hit at 
the height of the wrong swing of the pendulum? St. Paul, 
St. Francis of Assisi, Thomas a Becket, are three of the 
latter type who come to my mind. 

But I am getting in above my head. I shall soon solve 
this speculation and publish the result to the waiting world. 
It is rather an interesting question, though? 

3 A.M. Friday. 

The "Duchess" has just come in with the mail. I am 
night nurse every third night now, so I am up and got 
everything. I will send this right off and will send you more 
by the "Prospero" which is due any day now. 

It really did seem good to hear from everybody and from 
you in particular. Of course, I suppose I should write at 
great length in reply to all your letters. When I feel deeply 
about anything it is almost impossible for me to mention it 
and when I have tried to express myself I certainly have 
made a fizzle of it. . . . 



114 LETTERS OF 

It seemed to me, and now I know that I was right, that 
there might possibly be lurking somewhere in me a taste 
for this kind of work. I am not able to do much actual good 
work here, but I like everybody and I am going to see to it 
that they like me, and I may be able to help, even if it is 
only to cheer up some of these poor devils. I am really try- 
ing to bring out something in me which will please you. I 
am not doing the hardest thing I could do. I am doing a 
very easy thing. The so-called hardships of this place are 
not as bad as they are pictured (at least they are not so for 
me). Well, I will never be prominent and may never be 
successful, but when I leave here I think I will honestly be 
able to say to myself, "Well, it was a poor financial and 
worldly move, it led nowhere, it wasn't the best thing to 
do for your parents, but, by George, nobody can say you 
were a worthless dilettante during this period at any rate." 
This will be a satisfaction to me and to you, I think. . . . 

The Prospero will bring the boxes. Many thanks. I do 
not think there is a single other thing you can do for me, 
as I have everything. I may not get any more time to 
write until this boat leaves, as I have to keep right on 
the job until two operations are over in the morning, after 
which I shall hibernate for a round or so of the clock. 

Dec. 2^th, 191 2. 

I HAVE been terribly busy since the Duchess got here 
with patients. Thank Goodness! have not had to join in 
any of the elaborate Christmas preparations which start 
this evening. 

I have had some amusing experiences lately. On Sunday 
I went to the Church of England with Dr. and Mrs. G. 
Mrs. G. froze both cheeks stiff in church, while the parson 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 115 

was mentioning the terrors of fire and brimstone. We also 
prayed in the Litany (which never has seemed to me a very 
warm affair) to "eliminate" all Bishops, etc. The sermon 
was about whenever you read of a brave deed being done, 
the name of an Englishman usually follows, etc. Dr. G.'s 
comments were wonderful. In the afternoon Dr. G. was 
trying to mend a watch, which he had needlessly taken 
apart. I asked him what he was doing. He replied, " I am 
trying to remember that I am a Christian and I am losing 
ground every moment." He preached a wonderful Christ- 
mas sermon. It is wonderful to see how the men here im- 
prove while they are in the hospital. They brighten up in a 
really surprising manner. Oh, the pettiness of people, with 
different religious views! Up here each place has Catholic, 
Church and Methodist schools, all poor. Nobody ever 
trusts people of other denominations. Thank God, Dr. G. 
has got the power and the sense at least to do something to 
knock all this in the head. 

He is very keen about our Church in America and very 
down upon the Church of England at the present time. He 
said, "I don't mind form in the Church, what I hate is 
'forms'" (meaning of course, red-tape). 

I am expecting the box by the Prospero and it is anx- 
iously awaited, particularly by the nurses who seem to be 
tired of the diet. 

Christmas Morning, 1912. 

We had dinner last evening at the Grenfells'. Just after 
dinner the Prospero came in. It was a really wonderful 
sight. As we ran over the ice dog teams seemed to rise from 
the ice. Later I counted 180 dogs all harnessed and there 
must have been many more. They were all fighting and 
howling. As the Prospero bucked the ice full steam ahead. 



ii6 LETTERS OF 

some of the boys walked on the ice, which was trying to 
break, with their hands on her bow. . . . 

We got a terrible bunch of patients, and will be operating 
most of today, I fear. We were up most of the night seeing 
patients who had to go along on the boat, making medi- 
cines, etc. 

This afternoon Santa (Dr. Armstrong) is to come over 
the hill from the North Pole with the toys on a sled with 
Donner and Blitzen and the other reindeer pulling him. 

I have just been able to snatch a moment for this letter, 
but may be able to snatch another before the Prospero 
leaves this afternoon. 

I have not had time to open the box as yet. 

Later. 

I OPENED the boxes. I can tell you that such things don't 
grow on trees up here and will come in mighty handy. When 
Dr. G. saw my boxes he threw himself across the room and 
embraced me, saying, "I will have to be very careful to 
keep in your good graces until all these are eaten." 

I wonder what Dr. Johnson would have said of this 
place ! ! ! 

I am going off on a trip to Cape Norman sometime next 
week to take a crippled boy home. It ought to be a wonder- 
ful trip. It is about eighty miles each way. They tell me 
the "going" is good now. Perhaps I might not have come 
to this conclusion by myself. I am bursting with health 
and my heart has only a faint suggestion of a murmur left. 

I am thinking of inventing a thermos bottle for humans. 
If you hear of such an invention send me a few hundred, 
will you? 

By the next Prospero I hope to answer some of the letters 
I got. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 117 

I got the Bible. Every third book in the Mission is a 
Bible, but thanks all the same; also the orange glasses. 

Dec. 26th. 

Well, Christmas is over! I got everything, for which 
many thanks. It was a real pleasure to see how the orphans 
and the other children enjoyed it. I took your letter off to 
the Prospero on a komatik, driven by two reindeer covered 
with ribbons. Dr. G. and I boarded her from the ice while 
he hobnobbed with a lot of cronies. It is truly remarkable 
to see how these sad, quiet-looking men brighten up in his 
presence. 

We got a lot of pretty bad patients, most of them tuber- 
cular or septic. 

I expect to go to Cape Norman tomorrow morning at 
5.30 with your toys and others. I am going to do one-night 
stands along the Straits for a week or ten days. I like trying 
new things, but there is a Hmit. I have to drive a team of 
reindeer, run Xmas trees, see anybody who is sick (and 
not kill anybody) and read the Church of England service. 
Well, I have always said I would try anything once. 

Friday. 

It turned "dirty," so I did not go. It has blown a gale 
of wind and snow all day. I had my head shingled! I 
found that my head sweated going up a hill and my hair 
froze going down. I also broke off my front tooth, so that 
I am not very beautiful to look at. Dr. Grenfell wants his 
hair shingled, but Mrs. G. is firm. 

Saturday, 2%th. 

It was still too dirty to go. I went over to Goose Cove, 
eight miles away, with Dr. Armstrong, where he fixed a 
broken arm. We came back at night in a driving snow_ 



ii8 LETTERS OF 

storm. How those dogs ever kept the trail is a mystery to 
me, for all the tracks were gone and one part of the country 
looks exactly like another, with no tree or anything for 
landmarks. But they only lost their way once and then 
stopped like a shot and all twelve of them lay on their backs 
until we found the trail again. They are really wonderful, 
and my! how they can pull. 

Sunday, 
Still too bad to go, but I expect to go tomorrow if 
possible. . . . 

Dr. G. is the biggest-hearted Christian I have ever met! 
Whether he is playing with the X-ray machine or running 
the Strathcona through the fog and ice on the uncharted 
coast of Labrador, he must be called either extraordinarily 

brave or a fool, he has a great practical vision of a life 

of usefulness, he is a fine surgeon and a charming English 
gentleman. . . . His charm and goodness are so apparent 
that they convince. . . . 

Have you ever realized what a power it is to feel that you 
are right? Look at the stupid people and nations going 
ahead of others simply because they never doubt. I some- 
times think that the most dangerous thing that can happen 
to a person is to be able to see both sides of a question. I 
am sure that this is a terrible fault with me. For the life of 
me I cannot work up any very great enthusiasm about any- 
body or anything in general except myself and life in gen- 
eral. So-called bad men are so much like so-called good 
men, if you treat them in the right way. What a person 
amounts to in this world seems to me to depend not very 
much on what he is. It depends on which one of the great 
influences in this world takes effect. If a person can work 
up belief and enthusiasm for some good cause he can be- 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 119 

come a very fine man from a very mediocre start. On the 
other hand, it is very easy to get a good start, but to de- 
fault early in the tournament, because you don't fancy the 
cup, even if you should win it . . . 

Now there are lots of prizes offered, but most of the 
plums of this world, particularly those called prominence 
and power, I don't like. The victor is apt to be a bit too 
self-assured. 

Well, how about wealth! Well, this is the long-distance 
race. Most people have to enter this race, a few even like 
it, but Heavens! how stupid and tiresome it is. Let us 
rather get beaten in the 10 yd. dash. 

But the trouble is that if you stop competing, some day 
they may hang up a prize you want and then you will be so 
out of practice that you won't have a chance. 

Jan. 5, 1913. 
Dear Mother, 

I HAD a glorious trip North. You may laugh about Mr. 
Irving and the prayer-tree! I know that I am a poor sort of 
a Christian except when I am alone in the so-called barren 
places. It seems on these occasions as if my whole vision 
of life clears, as if cataracts had been removed from my 
eyes. A city interests me, a rural community disgusts me, 
and a great space of virgin land inspires me. As I pushed 
up hill, slid down hill and jogged on the level my mind 
fairly buzzed. I did not think of anything I had done or 
was going to do, but of what a marvellous world God has 
lent us to live in. Alfred de Vigny in his latter days became 
a cynic. He said, "There is a God; but He is a cruel God 
not to tell us about the mysteries of Nature." How wrong! 
What an exciting problem He left us to solve! And the 



120 LETTERS OF 

beauty of this problem is that by means of science, etc., we 
can discover the answer to bits of this problem; just enough 
at the time to keep us going and fascinated. When science, 
etc., discover a lot more are we going to see that Christian- 
ity is really the answer after all .'' It certainly looks more 
and more like this to me. Compare Darwin and the mod- 
ern scientist, even the German, for instance. I firmly be- 
lieve, and I don't believe just on a hunch either, that the 
day will come when men will not only believe in Christ, 
but will be able to prove it. 

I spent the first night in Ha-Ha, but first a word about 
reindeer. I drove one and Ned Evans, one of the herders, 
another. My deer was named Daisy, I changed this to 
Xanthippe. In the first place a deer has one trace and one 
rein. You will ask, "But how does that work?" Answer, 
"It doesn't." Dr. Grenfell says, "Deer must be O.K. be- 
cause the Laps are content with them." I replied, "Yes, 
and they are contented with Lapland, I fancy." A reindeer 
comes just below the jellyfish in a scale of evolution. Fear 
is the only motive which makes a deer go, but "Xan" 
didn't know enough to realize that murder lurked in my 
heart. On bays and lakes and rivers "Xan" went very 
slowly. Between boulders, stumps and the tops of trees 
sticking above the snow "Xan" went like a stake horse. 
This was exciting, but made my lower limbs blue and 
yellow, and wore out a pair of sealskin boots. "Xan" has 
one virtue. When it is time for having a "mug up," you 
tie her to a tree, which bears not a leaf, but is covered, that 
part which sticks above the snow, with ice and dry scales, 
and you say, "Dinner is now served in the Dining Car." 
" Xan " then sticks out about five yards of tongue and 
looks pleased beyond words. Off this perfectly sterile tree 
she eats a full meal and goes much better. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 121 

I had a medicine chest and two huge boxes of toys. 
I saw patients, pulled teeth, cut open septic fingers, gave 
conservative medicines and held Xmas trees. I also made 
speeches at all the Xmas trees which were held in the 
churches. I wanted to say, "You see those new toys. 
Well, Ma sent me those. The broken ones were sent by 
short skates." As a matter of fact I preached sermons 
about what a Xmas tree was and why we had it. They 
were easily the best Xmas-tree talks that have ever been 
given. By a unique process of reasoning I have proved to 
myself that I am not a hypocrite when I do such things. 

At Ha-Ha I was given a great time; I was given fresh 
meat and tinned cow (condensed milk). I also got many 
lice in my hair, but it was so short that they all died of the 
cold or something the next day. Hospitality is the cardi- 
nal virtue of these people. I hit it off beautifully with them, 
as they have virtues which I admire and vices which most 
of the people I like (including myself) have. . . . 

January 6th, 1913, Monday. 

The Duchess left last night; her last trip. . . . 

Miss , whom you saw, is the most objectionable 

person I ever met. She is kind, she is really very good, she 
is willing, she is able, she is good nature itself; in fact there 
is absolutely no good Christian virtue, except grace, which 
she hasn't got. But!! Well, if I am able to keep up pleas- 
ant (so-called) relations with her I am sure that in the next 
life I will climb up one big step in the Inferno. If a person 
were to pick out of prison the worst person there and say, 
"You have to eat two meals every day with this fellow," 
I am perfectly sure that after some labor I could find one 
subject upon which we could converse with pleasure. 
Well, this could never happen with Miss . She said 



122 LETTERS OF 

to Dr. A. (who openly hates her), *'0h, Dr. Armstrong, 
I just think it is too splendid of you giving up your lucra- 
tive London practice, to be a Missionary in this bleak 
Northland." He said, coloring up, "I came up here be- 
cause I like the life, not out of a sense of duty. I think to 
be a fashionable doctor in London the most damnable bor- 
ing life I know of." Dr. A. keeps her away from him by 
swearing like a trooper when she appears. She spends all 
her spare time either taking pictures or writing hundreds 
of letters, enclosing them. 

Tuesday. 

I WORKED all morning, but got off in the afternoon. I 
went skiing, which is a great sport, with Dr. Grenfell and 
Grant. We went to see George Ford, who is the Hudson 
Bay Co.'s factor at the northernmost post in Bajffin Land. 
I bought some marvellous boots and sealskins (|i.2o a 
skin!) and a beautiful caribou overcoat which reaches to 
my ankles; it also has a large hood. It is all Eskimo-made 
with beads and layers of light and dark hide. I shall give 
it to Cleves ^ when I return. Tell him! . . . 

Wednesday. 

Dr. G. has a fit on for doing heart work. We have been 
making blood pressure curves, etc., of hearts. He pulled 
out two old tracings of men who died. Then he said, "Now 
we will see if we can't make you give one like these." He 
seemed terribly annoyed when I gave the most normal 
tracings of anybody. He says he knows I cheated, how, 
I don't know. But, joking aside, I certainly did get a good 
heart. My circulation is so good that one ear is all I have 
frozen so far. Everybody else is continually freezing fin- 

* John Cleves Short, Esq., of Cincinnati, with a taste for color in raiment. In 
the War he was a major, Q.M.C., A.E.F. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 123 

gers and particularly toes; these parts ^ito.^ perfectly warm 
with me, and, by the way, just as sea-sickness is for some 
reason, unknown to me, considered a good joke, so freezing 
something is considered terribly amusing. . . . 

I had to go across the harbor this afternoon. I was 
blown back by a wind which I am sure came from the 
North Pole without stopping. As I came in the Guest 
House Grant was playing on the Victor a song from a 
comic opera "The Arcadians": 

It's nice and warm, I think, that we shall have a lovely day, 
Very, very warm for May, eighty in the shade they say — just fawncy ! 
It really really looks as though we'll really have a lovely day, 
Oh, what very charming weather! 

But at my request he gladly took this off and played 
"From Greenland's Icy Mountains" sung by the Trinity 
mixed choir, which fitted the occasion better. 

I am going to Griquet (eighteen miles) with Dr. Grenfell 
tomorrow to give a Christmas tree. Mrs. G. is also going 
if we can find a "woman-box" (I love that phrase) to put 
on a komatik. 

This place was wrongly named. St. Anthony would 
never have had his chance to become a saint here! 

Saturday. 
We, Dr. and Mrs. G., Grant, George Ford, Alex Sims 
(the driver) and I went to Griquet. We had a most glori- 
ous trip. We had one dog komatik and three deer ones. 
Going over was about the best fun I have ever had. There 
was not a bit of wind, which is unusual for this country. 
Dr. G. smashed his komatik, which was the one that Peary 
took to the North Pole, and was very amusing about it. 
I have beyond a doubt formed a new and strong taste. 
Apart from the Mission and the people I shall always love 



124 LETTERS OF 

the country. The endless snow and Ice has a fascination 
for me greater than anything I have ever experienced. 
I can easily understand Dr. Grenfell's love for this country. 
Intoxicating is the only adjective which at all describes it. 
I believe that this climate affects you in one of two ways; 
you either look on it as drearier than anything that you 
have ever conceived of, in which case all your instincts 
make you dread the cold, or else it intoxicates you so that 
you will tackle with real pleasure a job which by all means 
ought to be a most disagreeable one. 

Whenever I hear the komatic dogs howling and fighting 
I run to the window; when they finally cut the thong hold- 
ing it to a post and the komatik jumps forward, I want to 
go and I don't care in the least where I go to. I think one 
thing that makes me feel this way is that I am so ridicu- 
lously healthy. I am just beginning to realize that I have 
been distinctly below par for well over a year. Keenness is 
what describes my physical condition. I discovered my- 
self rolling around in the snow playing with some dogs for 
the sheer joy of it the other day. For a long time I had felt 
like kicking every dog I saw. 

At Griquet we had a glorious time. We had a fine tree 
in Orangeman's Hall. Dr. Grenfell was the most fascinat- 
ing human being I have ever seen. The people to a man 
love him. . . . 

I spent the night with Ed, Al Bursey and family. The 
kitchen, dining-room, library, living-room, nursery, bed- 
room, pantry, storeroom, bathroom, woodshed, laundry, 
etc., all turned into one was a gem. The decorations were 
catholic; a picture of Jesus in the Manger, Dr. Grenfell, 
an advertisement for Fleischman's yeast, Landseer's 
"Stag," and Lily Langtry, as well as nets and fiddle. On 
this weapon Mr. B. performed for George Ford and me. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 125 

He said, "Most folks won't try to fiddle because they think 
it hard, but I never had no trouble." 

To see those children with their toys was a joy that 
would have warmed anybody's heart. Solomon, aged 
eight, even stopped smoking his pipe to play with a pop- 
gun. We had a mug up. At meals none of the females eat 
until all the males get through, then they get what is left. 
In this land the male wears all the plumage; the wife is 
only "his woman." I'll bet Mrs. G. was a revolutionary 
bomb in the house where they stayed. I went to bed with 
George Ford. I would have gladly taken in any of the rest 
of the family, regardless of age or sex, provided they would 
radiate heat. It got "parky" (a London cabby's phrase 
which Dr. G. uses in describing a windy night) during the 
night. Grant, in the next house, took off his boots and 
socks and actually froze two toes in bed. The greatest 
virtue of these people is hospitality. Tell Charley I want 
no more talk about Southern hospitality. This latter 
simply amounts to giving alcohol, of which you have more 
than enough, to a person who wants it, but actually doesn't 
need it, in a very gracious way. This hospitality means 
giving of food, of which the donor never by any chance has 
all he wants or even needs. 

I am night nurse again, as Dr. Armstrong and Miss 
Cannon have gone off to tackle a diphtheria epidemic. 
I expect the Prospero tomorrow for the last trip. I will 
probably get no mail or be able to get any out for a long 
time, a month or two, but then it ought to come every 
now and then. 

I found a box of splendid Victor records, Caruso, Farrar, 
etc. They are really a great joy. I have finished the books 
you sent me and have ferreted out some others, notably 
Gibbon's "Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire." This is 



126 LETTERS OF 

a marvellous book which I did not think I would ever read. 
I wonder if I shall be reduced to Dad's literature or "Pil- 
grim's Progress " first. It is a toss-up. Just a touch of that 
skunk John Knox makes me boil, and one concentrated 
pill of Puritanism is more than I can stand, classic or no 
classic. 

What Father needs is the woods in one long dose! Read 
O. Henry's story about the man and the doctors and how 
he finally found health. 

Will you please ask Father to send up by the first Pros- 
pero some fly nets and possibly a silk hood and some fly 
dope, as I fancy the flies are about as bad here as any- 
where? If he could send me up a cheap salmon rod and 
reel and some large salmon flies I will probably be able to 
get off for a few days for what is the best salmon fishing 
in the world. I don't care anything about a gun, as I pre- 
fer prodding a reindeer with a balsam pole to shooting 
caribou; it is more satisfying. 

If you shouldn't get a telegram you will know the wire 
is down. 

The reason this letter is so disjointed and badly written 
is because it is about four in the morning and cold. That 

fiend of a Miss , unknown to me, gave a lot of the 

patients, I should say, very large doses of castor oil which 
has kept me on the jump all night. 

Later and Warmer. 

I don't want you to misunderstand me about Dr. Gren- 
fell's books. The only objection to Dr. Grenfell's books on 
Christianity, Immortality, etc., is that they are poorly 
written and are not anywhere near sound. Theologically 
and scientifically they are a joke. They also smack too 
much of Lyman Abbott, Henry Van Dyke, Jane Addams, 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 127 

that fellow Crothers, etc., with all of whom he is intimate 
and by whom he has been greatly influenced. I have a the- 
ory about all this modern rot about Simple Faith. Sim- 
ple Faith is excellent for simple people (and this combina- 
tion may be the best thing), but simple religion is as much 
bosh as the Simple Life for complex people. For instance, 
I don't see how a man like Father Waggett, say, should 
accomplish Faith by the same mental processes that a 
Labrador fisherman does. If a man feels as Dr. G. does, 
why an education, except for worldly purposes? 

As regards his stories! They are possible because they 
are so sincere and because Dr. G. has led an unusual and 
romantic (I hate the word, it suggests the Albert Me- 
morial) life. If they were written by a fur trader I think 
they would be estimable. . . . 

But far be it from me to criticize a real saint like Dr. G. 

Tuesday, Jan. 14th, 191 3. 

The Prospero has just gotten in. She has been eleven 
days out from St. John's. Three times she tried to get 
around Cape St. John (down the coast a few miles) and had 
to put back. Captain Kane is a hero, as everybody " 'lows 
as how Cap'n Kane's the only man livin' 'twould a nosed 
her down here." She couldn't get in the harbor at all and is 
anchored to the ice outside. It was twenty-eight below to- 
day with a regular gale of wind. I went out to the boat and 
had a terrible time getting two stretcher cases back against 
the wind, but didn't freeze a finger or toe of either one. 
My canvas suit keeps out the wind absolutely, so that 
I can be perfectly warm where it covers me. Little or 
rather huge caribou skin moccasins, only the thickness of 
paper but absolutely air-tight, with the aid of numerous 
socks, keep my feet perfectly warm. These are quite won- 



128 LETTERS OF 

derful. As Mark Twain said of the bicycle, '"' I have seen it, 
but it is impossible." The reason for this is that they are 
so soft that they never bind and hence the blood is never 
stopped even momentarily. Seal gloves, made of seal's 
flippers, keep my hands perfectly warm. The only trouble 
is the face, when you have to face the wind and flurries of 
snow and small pieces of ice. When these times come it is 
just plain Hell. I have just been fighting this wind for 
about three hours getting these patients in and I don't 
mind saying that my language would have made that of a 
mate on a river-boat sound like the Catechism. I almost 
never swear on ordinary occasions. Most of the natives 
here are poorly nourished and are, with some notable ex- 
ceptions, about as yellow as you make them; most of them 
instead of getting used to the cold get absolutely cowed by 
it. Dr. Little seems to be the man who is everybody's hero 
up here. Almost every house I go into somebody says, 
"Well, this is almost as cold as the night Doc Little did 

" When I got in Miss said, "Oh, Mr. Burton, 

weren't you afraid?" I wanted to slay her. One more 
nice thing about Dr. G. is that he never either criticises or 
praises you as long as he thinks you are doing your best. 

I only got one letter from you describing Xmas. In this 
country letters really get lost, so I suppose some of yours 
were. After this there will be no mail either way for prob- 
ably two months, but I will try to write you daily on the 
chance that you will get them sometime. I am truly sorry 
you are not well, but don't ever think "nerves" are the 
worst thing that can happen to you. Just spend one morn- 
ing dressing great open tubercular joints as I do every day. 
The agony that some of these poor fellows suffer is beyond 
belief, but Dr. G. always tries to save their limbs because 
they cannot earn a living with one hand or one leg. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 129 

Almost everybody in St. Anthony has had the grippe 
except me. For the first time in years my nose is always 
clear and I use one handkerchief indefinitely. I am putting 
on weight at a surprising rate. I weigh about 1 50 pounds 
in my indoor clothes. 

I got no papers, but I don't seem to care. Balkan 
troubles, Caruso's throat, prize fights. President Eliot's 
views on bringing up babies, Whitelaw Reid's death, 
etc., don't seem to interest me in the least. Everybody 
else seems crazy to get news of the World, but some- 
how or other I don't seem to care. I guess I will never 
get over being more interested in myself than other 
people. 

I really cannot understand the working of your mind 
when you thank me for my Christmas present. I would 
have given you a Xmas present if I had been home and if 
I had any money. You speak of my giving and not receiv- 
ing this Xmas. Well, the only things I gave were toys and 
food which you sent me and food which I bought with 
Father's money. Another thing which I like about Dr. G. 
is that he never does the Lady Bountiful act for one min- 
ute. He always is giving away things "which some kind 
friends have sent me." It is never as if he himself was 
giving things (never money) away. 

We have been having great fun over two operations for 
circumcision. Dr. A. did the first one. Dr. G. watched, 
then he said, "Armstrong, how much do you rob people of 
for doing that in London?" Dr. A. said fifty guineas. Dr. 
G. then said, "And do you then come out here to get square 
with your conscience.'' Now watch me on this next boy. 
I learned how to circumcise from Leviticus, and I'll bet 
you that by following the directions I beat you and your 
fifty guineas all hollow." So he put an Old Testament on 



I30 LETTERS OF 

the boy's chest and proceeded. Then on the eighth day 
we cleansed it. We beat Dr. A. all hollow. 
I must stop. Too busy. 

Love, 

Cap. 

Tell Spence a Mr. Sadler ^ is here and wanted to be re- 
membered to him. He seems thoroughly O.K. He says 
this place is not as cold as Cowley. 

Friday, ijth Jan. 1913. 

I HAD to make one flying trip to Griquet since I wrote you 
last to see a fellow who had a bad hemorrhage in his left 
lung. I brought back a gentleman named Humby who 
has lain in bed for four years with no organic trouble. He 
is what you can call a hypochondriac if you want to. He 
thinks his insides are bearing down. Well, Dr. G. is re- 
sourceful, if anything. We told him we were going to fix 
him. Then we etherized him and put a large blister on his 
abdomen. We first showed him all the large knives and 
saws that we had. Two days later we opened all the win- 
dows in his room, took away his bedclothes, and told him 
he had his choice of freezing to death or walking to the next 
room where we would fix him up. We then left him yelling 
and screaming. After about a minute he got out of bed and 
walked for the first time in nearly five years. And, by 
George, he walks every day now. How that man hates me ! 
It is my job to tell him that he is a fraud. As a matter of 
fact he isn't a fraud, for his mind is diseased. Dr. G. says 
crazy or not crazy he is going to pull up cod next summer, 
and I fancy he will. It is a very interesting case to me and 
I have largely had charge of him. Dr. G. says he under- 
stands auto-commanding better than auto-suggesting. 

^ Rev. Ralph Sadler, at one time with me in the novitiate at Cowley. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 131 

Saturday. 

I GOT a day off today. I took my thermos bottle and 
some chocolate and went off by myself for the day. I just 
put on my racquettes and wandered way back in the white 
hills. It was glorious. Cold but no wind. I shot several 
white ptarmigan and a couple of large white hares. It is 
good fun following up fox and rabbit tracks. I only wish 
I had a chance to do more of this sort of thing, for there is 
nothing I love so much. I tell you my bump of direction 
comes in handy up here; I haven't gotten twisted yet even 
in some very dirty weather. 

Thursday, Jan. 24th, 1913. 
Griquet chez Esau Hillier. 

Here I am snowed in for fair. Monday afternoon a man 
came over from here wanting a doctor in a hurry. Dr. G. 
couldn't go, so I was elected. Dr. Armstrong has pneu- 
monia at Flower's Cove, but has passed the crisis. Dr. 
G.'s only remark on hearing of this by telegraph was, 
"Well, why didn't he send his team home? He can't 
want it if he is sick." Dr. G. is strong on spiritual conso- 
lation, but he certainly doesn't waste much time feeling 
sorry for physical pain. Saturday before last when I had 
the grippe he came in the room smiling, and said, "If you 
are able to help in the operating room, get up; if you would 
just be in the way, stay in bed." This is characteristic of 
his attitude towards sickness. I don't think that he con- 
siders relieving pain of the slightest consequence unless it 
helps in curing a man and allowing him to "get back to his 
work," which is a great phrase of his. 

I saw the sick man who had pneumonia; knocked the 
window out with an axe, left some directions, medicines, 
etc., and chased away a large part of the women folks who 



132 LETTERS OF 

always gather when anybody 's sick. They weep and par- 
ticularly moan until a fairly sick man gets convinced that 
he is going to die. At this stage they admit that the case 
has gotten beyond their medical skill (a great blow to their 
pride) and send for help. 

During the night a woman died in child-birth, two miles 
from where I was, without sending for me in time, as "she 
seemed all right." I got to her about four in the morning 
after working two hours to go two miles against the storm. 
I was too late. Even I could have saved her life, as her 
well-meaning women kin had certainly made a ghastly job 
of it. 

Let me describe the scene: 

It was four in the morning; dark as pitch with howling 
nor'easter; it wasn't that it was snowing, but the snow 
which was on the ground was migrating; in one place bare 
ground and within fifty yards a drift way up over tall trees. 
In fact such nights rarely occur outside of Nick Carter. 

In the house were about twenty-five people all sitting 
around the stove. The second I entered I saw I was too 
late. Everybody was moaning and wailing. It was the 
most interesting scene I have ever witnessed. 

I will stop right here and explain the use of the word 
"interesting." I will try to be honest with myself and you. 
My sensations when I see a stranger die are exactly the 
same as when I read in the newspaper that fourteen people 
were killed in Kansas. I might be willing to try to prevent 
this woman's death and do so gladly, but I literally don't 
care at all when it is all over. I wonder why this is 
so. Now Dr. G. doesn't think it makes much difference 
whether a person dies or not (like Fr. Field). This is O.K. 
as long as you don't care whether you yourself live or not 
(and Dr. G. has certainly taken more fool chances of losing 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 133 

his life than almost anybody); but I myself care more 
about living than any other fact in this world. Well, there 
only seems one answer, cold-heartedness. It is an ugly 
fact. When I feel sorry for a person's death (as for Pren's) 
it is simply because I have lost a great joy. I wonder if 
I will ever change; I doubt it. 

Well, if I didn't know how to feel sorry for this man I 
did have a conception of how a gentleman ought to act in 
a rather new situation. I got Mr. Bussey away from some 
of the loudest wailers (who are not relations) and gave him 
my last Romeo and Juliette Perfecto. Apparently he 
liked my methods, for he has hardly left my side since his 
wife's death and he has invited me to "Mourn" at the 
funeral tomorrow. If I can't get away before then, I 
shall. 

I shall really read the Bible if I tour the provinces much. 
Are people edified by Leviticus ? Not I, at any rate. I was 
bored. The Psalms are like all great poetry. They are (i) 
great poetry, (2) "very deep." Anybody ought to enjoy 
the sound of them and I do, just as I enjoy the sound of 
Milton. But, by George, it seems to me that the unlearned 
person is apt either to get no significance at all out of most 
of them, or else read into them all sorts of things that were 
never there. Some of them I know mean a whole lot, but 
they might just as well be a beautiful poem in Spanish as 
far as I am concerned. Is there some good criticism of 
them? (Not a little gem of a book telling me how fine 
they are.) If so, please send me it in the summer. The 
Chesterton you sent me is not up to the other Ches- 
terton. 

I got to talking with a skipper up here about the "Ti- 
tanic." He was great! He said, "I see. Doctor, that they 
say Captain Smith ought to have slowed up because there 



134 LETTERS OF 

was ice loo miles ahead." He then said, "Well, if it's a 
'cap'n's' duty to slow up when there's ice ahead I reckon 
Dr. Grenfell has done more sinnin' than any man afloat." 
He also said, "Seems to me like as if I had spent $10,000,- 
000 on a boat I would hire a few men at fifty cents a day 
who were used to looking for ice." It seemed by far the 
most intelligent criticism I have heard. 

Miss gets "wuss and wuss." Her one ideal in life 

is neatness. She tidied up my dispensary and now neither 
Dr. Grenfell nor I can find anything. If a man was dying 
and wetting his bed at the same time I know she would 
remake that bed before she did anything else. . . . 

I am getting very thick with Miss Bryce. She is a brick. 
She never does things for effect, and when she makes a 
mistake, she does not try to make excuses for herself. 
The thing that I like about her is that she is so happy-go- 
lucky. She literally takes nothing to heart. She says that 
when next she becomes a missionary, it will be to the Equa- 
torial races. Dr. G. invited her to go on a komatik ride the 
other day. She politely declined, saying she preferred to 
sit in the kitchen with her feet in the oven for a holiday. 
Her uncle had asked her to spend the winter on his yacht 
in the Mediterranean and her remarks on her Quixotic 
conduct are rich. It seems strange that when I know so 
many nice ladies that I can't manage to fall in love, if only 
for a week, but I can't seem to do it. . . . 

Esau Hillier, mine host, is an acquaintance of the Pros- 
pero. He is not of the four hundred I fear, and he is (and 
now I feel I am) very lousy. He has, however, a very keen 
sense of humor and I like him. His two children are named 
Sybil and Vera, but they do not look it. 

A louse (whom only Bobby Burns has not spoken ill of) 
is not nearly as bad as a mosquito or black fly and is much 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 135 

easier to get rid of. It is the idea of lice that people mind. 
But I think a louse a comparatively harmless creature and 
I don't mind the idea of lice a bit. 

I could tell you many tales about the mail, but the gist 
of them all would be that I haven't any idea when this 
will get to you, if ever. 

I heard one tale which is a gem. There is a ledge of rocks 
up here a few miles, near the Labrador side. They want to 
build a lighthouse on them, but there seems to be a ques- 
tion as to whether the winter storms and ice sweep them or 
not. So George Doane, the mailman (who is the dare-devil 
of the coast), is spending the winter on them. In June they 
will go out to the Island. If he is still there they will build 
the lighthouse, but if he has been swept off, why, they 
won't. Simple, isn't it.'' 

Saturday, Jan. 2^th, 1913. 

John Evans, ^ who came on the last Prospero to take 
charge of the deer, is a great acquisition. He has a very 
fine baritone voice and sings and loves good music. He is 
about thirty and has been here several years in charge of the 
deer, which is more of a job than it sounds. He shares my 
bedroom with me and we get along beautifully. He also 
has excellent taste in books. In short, I don't know when 
I have found anybody that I hit it off better with. He is 
witty which makes him a good room-mate. . . . 

^ Mr. Evans writes of Caspar: "Cap was my intimate friend for three years. 
We lived in the same house at St. Anthony. Our trips were taken together. We 
shared boats and dog-teams. It would have been impossible after such close as- 
sociation with him not to have admired him for his brilliant intellect and many 
lovable qualities. The natives of 'The French Shore' and Labrador for whom 
he was able to do so much, respected and loved him, as did his associates at St. 
Anthony." 



136 LETTERS OF 

Monday, Jan. 27th, 191 3. 

I AM bursting with pride. Sunday Dr. G. was away for the 
afternoon when a team arrived saying that a woman was 
dying in child-birth about twenty miles up the bay. Well, 
it was a case of me or nothing, so I took the obstetrical bag 
and departed. I found a young girl having her first child 
who had been laboring forty-eight hours. Well, I said, 
Steve Brodie took a chance, I guess I might as well. 

The poor girl was almost dead and of course all the 
ladies in the neighborhood had convinced her that she was 
going to die. I kicked them all out and then set to work. 

I made my examination and passed an awful moment. 
I won't go into details, but there was no possible chance of 
her having that baby herself. It was a case which only oc- 
curs about once in one hundred times, so a book has since 
told me. It certainly was a terrible moment. Well, alone I 
etherized that girl and after about an hour's work I ex- 
tracted a boy. The baby then turned blue at which I had 
presence of mind enough to beat it until it finally squawked. 
I then did all the remaining things with no trouble at all. 
The child hasn't got a mark on it which, I think, is pretty 
good considering that I never even saw forceps used be- 
fore. I spent most of the night with the mother and child. 
But I really had what I consider a great compliment. In 
the morning the mother sent for me and asked me my name. 
I said Burton. She said, "No, Doctor, I mean your first 
name." And the child is to be christened Caspar Henry 
Patey. Apparently I was a social success. Anyway, I was 
and still am very pleased. I shall always try to keep track 
of my namesake. 

I certainly put through a big bluflF, for I overheard the 
midwife say, "'E looks young, but 'e knows 'is business, 'e 
never even 'esitated." 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 137 

I think one reason Mrs. Patey liked me was that I told 
her that she was a very plucky girl, which she was. I 
wonder if I would get on better with females if I tried flat- 
tery now and then. 

I wonder that more hasn't been written on the way in 
which we come into the world. I think this is a glorious 
'moment; this first squawk of a child. I feel very reverent 
about it and at no moment of my life have I felt less ma- 
terialistic. Yet isn't it in some way significant, that this 
glorious moment should be so unsesthetic? I feel like tell- 
ing Algernon Charles Swinburne and that at the one 

really pure moment of their lives they were all covered 
with the stinkingest filth imaginable. A bas the expression, 
"cleanliness is next to godliness." 

Every week I am more in love with this country. 

Thursday, Jan. 2,0th, 1913. 

Dr. Armstrong is well, but just as he was about to come 
home he had to go to another place. I don't know when he 
will get here now. He froze three dogs, which is considered 
almost unpardonable by Dr. G. I am only just beginning 
to realize how all the mission people dislike him. ... It has 
set me to thinking. This is the reason. He thinks that all 
the people under him are coolies. He gives orders in a very 
objectionable way, but then I say this is not as bad as or- 
dering you to do objectionable things. His idea of running 
anything is to crush all individuality and make a machine, 
and being British he is unable to see that this plan is impos- 
sible amongst real people (i.e., non-British people). I know 
there is going to be a scene some day and dread it. But I 
can truthfully say that I like immensely both sides and I 
have not allowed the nurses to curse out Dr. A. while I was 



138 LETTERS OF 

around. Dr. A. is the only British disciplinarian I have 
ever worked under (not for). It is a liberal education (as 
Spence will tell you); but, unlike Spence, it will be a cold 
day when I ever get caught again. Dr. A. says on Sunday, 
"You will get Thursday off." I get this no matter what 
happens, but I don't enjoy a holiday when it is planned. 
Dr. G. works me much harder, but on a fine day he will say, 
"Come on, Burton, let's let all the patients die and go off 
after reindeer." Don't misunderstand me. I could enjoy a 
trip around the world, say, with Dr. A. immensely. I like 
him immensely as a friend, and I admire him as his coolie. 
Well, you love Englishmen, but you haven't ever taken 
orders from one of the real systematic, world-conquering 
type. 

Jan. z\st, 1913. 

Dr. G. had to travel all night to get to a dying man at 
Ha-Ha. He was killingly funny when he left. He and I had 
taken a twelve-mile ski trip in the afternoon and were dead 
fagged. I volunteered to go, but he said, "My dear chap, 
you are now Obstetrician Extraordinary to the French 
Shore, and as the case is an old man I think it cannot very 
well be a confinement." His fun is more contagious than I 
can even suggest. 

While we were resting on a rock he told me wonderful sets 
of tales about Freddy (Sir Frederick Treves). Dr. A., who 
also worked under Treves, told me that Treves says that 
Grenfell was easily the most promising surgeon he ever 
saw. Dr. G. said, "You must visit Freddy when you go 
to England. Just tell him I say to kick out a Duke or two 
and make room for you." He also said, " Freddy told me I 
might just as well be a missionary. He was right, I never 
could have made a cent in the West End." He also said, 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 139 

"I think it is simply terrible to doctor anybody with 
money." 

Saturday. 

I HAD to go at six this morning to Goose Cove only six 
miles away. It was pouring rain!! When we crossed a big 
bay the water was about a foot deep on the ice. The going 
was terrible. Snowshoes and sou'wester rig made a strange 
combination. I put back a dislocated shoulder on an old 
man very easily; luck seems to be following me. 

Dr. G. got back O.K., but had a terrible time, I guess; 
for he came twenty miles in the slush and I know what a 
job it was to go twelve. 

Old Captain Ashe got to telling stories about the Doctor. 
Doctor Grenfell used to carry a kayak on the Strathcona. 
He took the Strathcona through Grenfell Tickle in Ungava. 
He went ahead in the kayak all of the twenty-five miles 
and picked out passages through the rocks, ice and breakers 
for the Strathcona to follow. In fact, whenever they used 
to get fog-bound he used to go ahead finding ice and break- 
ers. Capt. Ashe said, "Mrs. Grenfell and them kids has 
ca'med him down some, thank God." He is also beginning 
to go around bays when he is told that the ice is bad and 
hasn't gone through the ice for two winters now!! All of 
the men here believe absolutely that God protects him. 
They will follow him when they wouldn't dream of fol- 
lowing anybody else. . . . 

Monday. 
I MUST get this off on the mail at once. I got your kind 
telegrams and am sending one tonight. The wire has just 
been fixed. Thanks for the money. It will come in very 
handy. I cannot tell you how I am enjoying living where I 
have as much money as I not only need but want. 



I40 LETTERS OF 

Give my love to Olga Montagu.^ I meet men constantly 
whom I know Instantly I am going to like; once in a blue 
moon I meet a girl about whom I feel the same way, and 
never was a woman more attractive to me than Olga Mon- 
tagu. 

Our hypochondriac walked two miles! Dr. G. says, 
"Well, we went through a different set of motions, but I 
can't see but what our methods worked as well as Lourdes." 

February 8th, 191 3, 
Saturday, 3 a.m. 

It has been a long time since I wrote you, but I certainly 
have been on the jump. I have made trips to Brehat, 
Goose Cove and St. Carol's since I wrote you last: one con- 
finement and two T.B. cases. 

I am now sitting up with a man who isdying, I am afraid, 
so if this letter is not very coherent put it down to the fact 
that I am within six feet of a man dying a rather ugly death 
and that I have not been doing much sleeping the last three 
days. This poor fellow is game as a pebble (even when de- 
lirious) ; I hate losing him, but we have been playing a los- 
ing game from the start. I wish his priest (he is R.C.) was 
here. I would gladly retire. Somehow or other I have been 
running into some tough cases lately. I would gladly have 
turned them over to Spence, as they have been the kind of 
thing I would gladly avoid. 

(My man is finally resting a bit.) 

Here is a case for an Ibsen or perhaps a de Maupassant. 
I went to see a sick woman. It didn't take me long to smell 
a rat when I arrived at the most squalid house I have ever 

^ Now the Lady Olga Montagu. At that time she was visiting Mother. After 
his death, she writes: "I can never look upon Caspar as anything but a victor, 
through many a hard fight, an unostentatious victor, one who did things, and 
fought, and overcame, and achieved. When the telegram came I was just put- 
ting some laurels into a vase." 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 141 

seen. There was not a single female visitor!!! In the one 
room was the husband (who is part Eskimo), five children, 
two cats, one sick puppy and several chickens all shuffled in 
together. When I went to the woman and started to ask her 
a question I was greeted by the following, "Doctor, I don't 
want to be cured. I hope to Christ I dies and goes to Hell!" 

Well, God does some strange things ! To place me of all 
people in this situation seemed about the strangest. Well, 
I have not got much conscience left, but I had a sneaking 
notion that if I dosed her with morphia and let it go at that, 
why, my conscience might crawl out of its hole and annoy 
me. Believe me I spent a terrible hour or so. It appears 
that she had had children by almost everybody before her 

marriage and the good ladies of had made her life a 

hell on earth. You would not have known your son. I had 
much to say to this woman, much that I have thought a 
great deal about at odd moments, and it burst forth. They 
seemed to take hold, for she "took back" what she had 
said and seemed a bit eased. Moreover, she is going to live. 
She is also going to move, if I can bring it about. I hope 
this sort of thing doesn't happen often. 

Everybody is out on the ice sealing with guns, clubs and 
nets. One man got ninety seals in his net in one cast. It is 
very bloody, dirty work. Dr. G. said one day, "I have 
killed several hundred caribou, but I shall never enjoy 
shooting again; I watched the cows killed at Armour's in 
Chicago and the two are very similar sports." . . . 

Poor Miss she lost her nerve the other day at a very 

critical moment and only by Miss Cannon's decision was a 
calamity avoided. I really feel sorry for her now that every- 
body else is picking at her. I am really afraid she will go to 
pieces if she keeps on doing the wrong things and getting 
cursed out for so doing. 



142 LETTERS OF 

George Ford has just bought a live black fox for $1,500. 
It is the excitement of the winter, and even this is consid- 
ered a tremendous bargain. . . . 

I am too tired to write much. My ability to do with- 
out sleep in long stretches has come in handy. 

Tell Father Powell I appreciated his two notes and will 
answer them before anybody else in the world. 

Feb. 14, 1913. 

I AM a backslider! I have not written for a week or over. 
I have been away tending six pneumonia cases all at once. 
I don't like to boast (an expression meaning that you love 
to boast) but I certainly did work. All six had tempera- 
tures over 104° at once and I certainly was kept on the run 
both day and night. I am only trained for one profession, 
porter on a Pullman sleeper, and in spite of the 1 3th Amend- 
ment I am barred from that by color and race. But not one 
of these patients died. I inherited Grandma Spence's ideas 
of dosage. You can watch my medicines work. But Dr. G. 
makes me seem like a homeopath. I have seen him give ten 
grains of calomel all at once and then repeat it next day. I 
get to like the people, that is the men, more and more. . . . 
They live their lives absolutely on prejudice, they bear 
their troubles without ever a wail, they are unprogressive 
in mind, they think everybody, excepting Dr. Grenfell, is 
to be judged on how much money they are worth. But 
their crowning virtue is hospitality; it is magnificent. But 
I must stop this or I shall call them "natives," a term much 
used by missionaries and loathsome to me. 

Dr. Armstrong got back yesterday; he looked all in. 
Dr. G. greeted him with, " I say, Armstrong, it would be 
shabby of you to die before John Little gets back." 

The mail came! Great excitement. I have read all your 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 143 

letters through Jan. 1 8th, which is very good. We may get 
a weekly mail regularly. It is one of the coldest winters 
they have ever had, but very little snow which is the ideal 
condition for travelling. It is generally the railroad which 
stops the mail. . . . 

Of course Spence will be a "succes fou" in Cambridge. 
With the possible exception of the Union all of the perma- 
nent institutions and activities have been slow growths. 
But then this is not really a new thing, for Spence has been 
working steadily at it for ten years. I guess he knows more 
about that side of Harvard than I will ever know. 

We have a baby here four months old, weight four 
pounds, almost starved to death but gaining. I have 
named him Disraeli. Did you ever see a baby that looked 
like an old man? I am answering your letter, it is 4 a.m. 
I am night nurse. . . . 

I have been considerably enlightened by Dr. Johnson on 
the subject of young men who have lately contracted mat- 
rimony. He says that it usually requires some cunning to 
accomplish most things, but that marriage, like the atmos- 
phere, is something which is equally obtainable by brainy 
and stupid, good and bad, rich and poor, etc., etc. . . . 

You speak of cheering up the sailors being a big job. It 
is and it isn't. These people connect cheer with alcohol. 
Like Bill Taylor ^ I think I could arrange a sort of Roman 
Holiday for these men that would be an event in history. 
As this does not seem feasible for physical, legal, political 
or even moral reasons I have to fall back on talk. Puns! 
My, how a pun is appreciated. Anyway, I find I hit it off 
very well with all the men. I was accused of being a Cath- 

* William N. Taylor, Harvard, '03, became a lieutenant-colonel of field artil- 
lery, U.S.A. He writes of Caspar, "He paid the price of right and justice for a 
good many of us." 



144 LETTERS OF 

olic the other day because I have sworn off smoking during 
Lent. I hear much talk of poverty which is certainly pres- 
ent on this coast, but it is the poverty of mental or physical 
sources of amusement which paralyzes me. To sit for days 
or years in this hospital, hardly talking, never reading, 
nothing to see and very little in their brain which they can 
shake up for amusement; that is the point. 

I am bursting with health. I have put my old heart to 
several tests which I think were more severe than many 
men experience in a lifetime. I have watched closely and 
my heart has never once balked. The murmur is still in 
my heart and always will be, but I have established per- 
fect compensation. . . . 

It is a very good joke about you seeing my picture. I am 
hipped on the subject of taking pictures of this place and 
life for public or private exhibition. My reason is that all 
pictures make this place seem like a real terrible place to 
live in. The pictures all exaggerate the atmosphere of life 
here. I am a cynic possibly, but I know that some of these 
people come up here in order to be considered heroes or 
heroines at home. Anybody who does missionary work or 
other so-called good work for the praise that fellow-men will 
give them I would kick out of any mission I was running. 
These pictures of "Nurse in Winter Dress," "Doctor on 
Arctic rounds," etc., etc., make me boil. Now the joke of it 
is that I have only had my picture taken once and that was 
with both doctors and nurses with two T.B. patients. This 
must have been the picture you saw, otherwise it wasn't 
of me. 

I think that is one of Father P.'s poorest sermons, but 
Dr. Grenfell read it this afternoon and thinks it the best 
thing he ever read. He said, "I say. Burton, I would be 
willing to use every influence I could to get that old cove up 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 145 

in the Straits. If we could get him and Parson Richards 
(a wonderful man I am told) and give them a few barrels 
of flour and pork a year and kick out all the salaried clergy 
... we could make things hum up here." He then added, 
looking at the S.S J.E., " But he hasn't got as many letters 
after his name as I have. How many have I, Puss?" Mrs. 
G., without a moment's hesitation, "Twelve." Dr. G., 
"Well, I ought to write three times as good a sermon then, 
but I can't begin to do it. I wrote one that was twice as 
good once, but everybody is tired of that sermon now." 

Feb. 22, 1913. 

Again I have missed writing you regularly, but what 
would be the fun of making a resolution without breaking it ? 

I think it was the day after I wrote you last that we had 
a big trial. Dr. Grenfell was prosecuting attorney, Noah 
Sims and Dr. Armstrong, both J.P.'s, sat on the bench and 
I was clerk of court. I wish you could have seen the trial. 
There were about a hundred men crowded into a fairly 
small room and every single man was excited almost to the 
fighting point. Nobody made a sound, but I think I never 
saw an uglier looking group of men. I tell you a perfectly 
silent man radiating hate is a stirring sight. It is some- 
times consoling to me to think that if not knowing what 
intense love is will damn me, why, not really ever hating 
anything or anybody may count for me. The trial was 
about a reindeer shooting and was keen, to put it mildly. 
After the trial people paired off and we had some pretty 
bloody fights. / think it was a very critical time for this 
Mission, but we pulled through on top. . . . 

Monday morning I started for Cape Norman lighthouse 
on an urgent confinement call. For the life of me I cannot 
have a real adventure. It was a terrible day and we worked 



146 LETTERS OF 

from 5.30 in the morning until 7 in the evening. Twice we 
started to turn back. We froze one dog. 

I said, "At last adventure, romance, glory." O for a 
moving picture entitled "Brave Missionary in Frozen 
North risking life to save Mother and Che-ild." All the 
settings were perfect for a little drama of which I was to be 
the hero and receive medals. I also froze my face and one 
hand, which was as it should be. 

BUT — I staggered into the lighthouse (heroic music 
and much snow). So far so good. But in the lighthouse, 
instead of anxious husband on his knees surrounded 
by children in spotless nightclothes praying that Mama 
might be saved, I found Mr. Campbell in a condition of 
complete mental ease. He said, "Well, Doctor, this do 

be uncivil weather for anybody to be out in. 

Sybil (eldest child), rub the doctor's face and hand, they 
do be friz." After he had gone on for some time and I had 
gotten thawed, I ventured to ask how the woman was. 
He said he would find out; that he hadn't heard all day! 
He added, "Doctor, she's terrible pesky when she be 
havin' children!!" 

Well, I saw the woman, who seemed O.K. on examina- 
tion. I then went to sleep. In the morning nothing doing. 
I was engaged in reading Boswell (which I carry in my 
pocket) when Mr. C. told me to go upstairs to the Woman. 
When I arrived the child was just arrived. After I cleaned 
things up, etc., I just sat down and roared with laughter. 
The melodramas of my life will turn into farces no matter 
how they start out. 

I got hung up at the lighthouse by more "uncivil" 
weather. Eighteen miles of ice pack moving at ten miles 
an hour. It is a gorgeous view, looking over at The Labra- 
dor. I thought of Kubla Khan. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 147 

" It was a miracle of strange device, 
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice." 

It is a gorgeous scene; this is really the last bit of the 
outlet of The Great Lakes and they enter the ocean with 
considerable dignity and importance. 

I shall always stay at lighthouses after this. The govern- 
ment supplies the house and provisions, and oh! what a 
difference. I ate eight eggs for breakfast, the first egg I 
have had, also real milk and real uncanned meat. We also 
had a seal steak, which was not too bad. 

I am not going to pity lighthouse-keepers again. I even 
think of applying myself for a job, for I can stand a terrible 
lot of loneliness if I am let alone. 

These fishermen's houses have brought home to me how 
truly singularly unreal is the fisherman's household in 
"David Copperfield." I don't suppose a poorer job has 
ever been done in all literature. Guy de Maupassant could 
have turned a better job than that. . . . 

Please get one idea out of your head. I am not going to 
be "influenced" by Dr. Grenfell. I may have been influ- 
enced to the bad by people, although I honestly don't 
think I ever have been once in my life; but I know that 
only one person in this world has ever influenced me to- 
wards what is called "good." That is Father Powell. He 
has never once ofi^ered me a word of advice without my 
asking for it nor has he by word or looks ever criticized me. 
Yet generally when I have left Father Powell I have real- 
ized what a cad I was. Now Dr. Grenfell is like every other 
good person I have ever seen, distinctly didactic. He 
wants to improve every person he comes in contact with, 
whether that person asks for improvement or not. . . . Now 
Dr. G. swore off smoking for Lent and has "used his in- 
fluence" (in the very nicest way) to get everybody in the 



148 LETTERS OF 

Mission to follow suit. He put it up to me in that cowardly 
"You don't have to go to Sunday School" tone, so I have 
not smoked, but I am spending a far less profitable Lent 
than I would have had had I not been "influenced." 

When I see Dr. G, going through a ward lighting up each 
patient's face with love; when I see him in his home; when 
I see him taking chances in bad ice, wind, etc.; when I see 
him praying with a man for the soul of his dead wife; in 
short, when I see him from day to day, then, perhaps, I 
may be a little bit influenced. Then, perhaps, I have brief 
moments when I say to myself, "You loose-living, low- 
idealled, hard-hearted little ass. What are you going to do 
about this miserable state of affairs?" But when he de- 
scends to my own plane and tries to convince me that 
tobacco is a curse, etc., I hardly know whether to laugh or 
not; his arguments are so perfectly childish. 

Sunday. 

I HAVE had a busy day. Dr. G. has been getting brilliant 
results with his surgery, but Dr. A. certainly is the man for 
making things hum in the hospital; he and Miss Cannon 
are a great combination for creating order out of chaos. 
This afternoon I went over to St. Carol's to see a sick 
woman; I hope I was able to help her a bit. It was a glori- 
ous day with no wind, a very rare thing. I don't often 
speak of how I love these vast barrens, rocks, ice and 
snow, but they are a constant inspiration and joy to me. 
You can't say a word on a komatik or the dogs instantly 
sit down, apparently to listen. . . . 

Oh, if Turner could ever have been turned loose on these 
skies and the Aurora! I am indeed your son ! Miss Cannon 
to my immense surprise "unloosened" herself to me last 
night when we were up watching a very sick man. She 
told me I reminded her of her favorite brother (now 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 149 

dead). She said that he was the only one of her family who 
was untidy (which I can easily believe) and that she was 
afraid she had almost pestered him to death. She said 
that try as she might she couldn't correct me when I was 
slovenly, for I reminded her of her dead brother. But she 
added, "Anyway, Mr. Burton, you are as careful about 
asepsis as anybody I ever saw." At this point she both lost 
her temper and wept which is characteristic of her. I get 
on famously with her; with no effort at all I can get her 
roaring with laughter any time I want to. She is a real 
jewel, you would love her. She is not only a Mrs. Pierce, 
but actually a second Miss Rothstein.^ Her account of 
part of a year she spent nursing rich patients in New York 
is rich. She says she wanted to stick out her tongue at 
them, and I bet she did. I found out that her abruptness is 
really largely shyness and I have "jollied" her ever since 
almost to the point of chucking her under the chin and she 
just loves it. I don't think anybody else has ever treated 
her as a joke, which I do, in private. 

Read Whistler's "Gentle Art of Making Enemies" and 
you have a pretty good idea of Dr. A. He certainly would 
not win a popularity contest here, but I really like him 
immensely and would love to be with him if I were not 
under him. 

Miss Bryce is a joy; she is just about the most facile per- 
son I have ever met, but I wouldn't be much surprised if 
she knifed Dr. Armstrong some day. 

Dr. A. travels in a unique way. He wears tons of clothes 
and carries millions of boxes. He sits on the komatik all the 
time. He won't budge without a good team and if they 
can't haul him he hires dogs and komatiks until they can. 

1 Two devoted and efficient parish workers. Miss Rothstein is now the Sister 
Louise of the Order of St. Anne. 



I50 LETTERS OF 

He certainly gets comfort, but it costs money and he goes 
like last year's Yale crew, " Very nicely but very slowly." 
He never makes over forty miles a day and he is death on 
dogs. Dr. Grenfell travels with a toothbrush and makes 
sixty miles a day with any kind of dogs. I think I never 
saw a man with more endurance. I have got excellent wind 
now, but one day when he and I took a long walk on snow- 
shoes he literally walked me off my feet. He is away now 
in Canada Bay and we all miss him terribly. 

I went to our church with Miss Bryce this evening. It is 
impossible completely to spoil our service. . . . 

Read fifty pages of Boswell (the first one hundred pages 
is not so good) every day. I know of nothing which is 
more fun. Also re-read (three or four times) Chesterton's 
"Orthodoxy"; it does more to convince me of the truth of 
Christianity (this apart from making me a good Christian) 
than anything with the possible exception of Darwin's 
"Origin of Species." I have also been reading a bit in 
Gibbon, but find I am not much interested in declining 
Rome, and the Fall was about five thousand pages away. 
Have you ever read any Tourgenieff? He is very great, 
I believe. I have also read right through the Bible now, but 
have a feeling it can stand more study! That man Paul 
"cramps my style" considerably. I don't think he would 
have cared for me especially. What an "undesirable citi- 
zen" he must have been before his conversion. I don't 
think he was naturally of a very optimistic turn of mind. 
I wish St. Francis had had his opportunities. I believe we 
would have fewer "sects" (a term which always suggests 
insects) than we have. 

Write me about Spence's scheme; I am both interested 
and curious. I want it to succeed on his account, but far 
more on account of Harvard. . . . 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 151 

Tuesday, March 2Sth, 1913. 

I HAVE just come back from Griquet and Noddy Bay, 
where there Is still pneumonia. It is a fact, of which medi- 
cine should be ashamed, that I can do almost as much in 
these cases as a doctor. I remove surplus females (who 
have always convinced the patient that death is near); 
knock out glass, strap up chests, give medicine and advice 
and stay up with the delirious ones. It doesn't take much 
knowledge to do this, but it seems to work pretty well. 
I am getting to have many friends along this coast. I like 
these people more and more. I could write you reams of 
truck about their quaintness and queer ways. These peo- 
ple seem at first so different from other people I know and 
like that it is very easy to think of them almost as if they 
were inhabitants of another planet. (Dr. Armstrong must 
think they are.) But their differences are not as striking 
as their similarities. As I get to know individuals I find 
myself disliking a very few, not caring much one way or the 
other about some and liking a great many, very much as 
I do at home. They are all brothers of that great family. 
Failure. Somehow or other, this makes them rather closer 
to me than otherwise, for I have much in common with 
them. If I am to be a failure in life, I pray God I may meet 
some of the troubles they meet with their dignity, instead 
of pretending to be a success when I am not. I will pick 

out as the most unattractive failure I know of; don't 

think for a moment that he doesn't realize his failure and 
that he doesn't suffer for it. He is only, with probably 
great trouble, keeping up a ridiculous pretence of being a 
success, when he knows he isn't. I will tell you the failures 
of this world have many temptations (which they seldom 
resist), but they do not have the most terrible temptation of 
all, namely, to have what is called an "Easy Conscience." 



152 LETTERS OF 

Wednesday. 

This last week has been the most perfect weather I have 
ever seen. Glorious. I spent the morning in the Hospital. 
A baby five months old weighing J our pounds^ who had been 
fed entirely on oatmeal until we got him a week ago, died. 
I had named him Disraeli; he looked like an old man. Miss 
Bryce and Miss Cannon have been weeping behind doors 
all day. I have a fine time with all the children here and 
enjoy them, but I cannot get up enthusiasm about a baby. 



Friday, April 2t,th, 1913. 

The steamer Sagona, an ice-breaker, is reported due to- 
night, and, as a strong wind has blown the ice-fields off the 
land a few miles, I think she will get here. The mail has 
been terrible. The last letter I got left home in February, 
so I stopped sending any more letters. I will write regu- 
larly every day now if possible. The Prospero should get 
here about March 15th. . . . 

The last part of March and April have been too glorious 
for words. Until the last two weeks I have been away al- 
most the entire time. I have been from Cape Bauld to 
Canada Bay on this side and pretty well all over the Straits 
and West Coast and straight across the country. With a 
few notable exceptions (which made me understand the 
last circle of the Inferno), I enjoyed travelling even in Jan- 
uary, but I know of wo objections to spring travel. One trip 
I drove my own team of dogs over one hundred miles. It 
beats any sport I have ever struck. I take off my hat to the 
komatik dog! He is the real King of Beasts. For speed, en- 
durance, strength and intelligence he stands alone. I 
crossed Hare Bay in a storm when I couldn't see my leader 
and he went perfectly straight by compass to land eleven 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 153 

miles away. I am not a "nature fakir," but I have strong 
leanings that way. Tell Father I have tales enough to last 
a year about these uncanny dogs. 

I spent a great three days with M. Romeo Fontaine et 
famille at the lighthouse at Cape Bauld. We left here the 
last afternoon of the Sports (about which more anon). 
About two hundred men in the Harbor having tug-o'-war. 
We went around a little point where his komatik (painted 
scarlet) was made fast. He then beat severely each of his 
twelve dogs until they were wild, then he cracked his long 
whip and I cut the back rope; we fairly leapt into space past 
the crowd, with Fontaine shouting, "Mush! Mush! mes 
braves." We were greeted with "Go it, Frenchie. Give 
'em hell, Frenchie." We kept this up till out of sight when 
we went, oh, so slowly. ... I had a great time at the light- 
house where I pulled teeth of Madame, opened an abscess 
and scraped her jaw. I gained great fame as a "doctor" 
and was presented with a "pipe tres chic." I saw there a 
real storm. The solid ice going out at five or six miles an 
hour striking the rock cliff just under us was a really mar- 
vellous sight and the noise was terrific. I had never seen a 
sight to touch it for grandeur. It suggested some of Wag- 
ner's music. 

By the way, I had to spend one night out in snow, as we 
lost our way in a storm. I was lying on two snowshoes 
completely surrounded by a circle of fire, with komatik 
dogs sleeping against my back and a large pure bred husky, 
with a breath like a buzzard, in the pit of my tummy, when 
I had a most peculiar thought. How did that Brunhilda 
woman get along without dogs ? She certainly was a sleeper 
all right, for I am pretty good and, even with dogs, I didn't 
have much luck. 

We had good fun at the Sports. All the men came and 



154 LETTERS OF 

seemed to have a great time. I saw a new sight, namely, a 
large crowd of men having a glorious time without any 
liquor. I doubt if there are many people who have seen a 
similar sight among Anglo-Saxons. I refer to a crowd of 
normal, healthy men, not a small group. 

I spent a night at Lock's Cove with the Reids (people 
of "ton" the Reids) in a vile closet. Over my head hung 
three silver foxes and about two hundred ermine (fifty 
cents an ermine skin). I could have bought the three 
silvers for $300, I think. . . . 

In short, I had a glorious time while away. I have made 
many real friends amongst these men. Whether I have 
done much good I don't know, but I have done a powerful 
lot of things which these men have asked me to for them, 
and I don't think I have once corrected anybody or helped 
to do something for a man when my help wasn't wanted. 
I have watched a man cut a dog's head in two with an axe, 
I have watched people who are T.B. suspects spit on the 
floors, I have slept in lousy beds without a word of protest 
unless I was asked to give my opinion. I have given this 
method a thorough trial and I believe it is O.K. . . . The 
point is, that if you first become friends they almost in- 
variably ask your advice about almost everything. . . . 

Afternoon of March 26th, 1913. 

No boat yet. I just found this picture which Dr. Gren- 
fell took one morning at Griquet where we took a lot of 
supplies. Xanthippe is breakfasting off a crack of harbor 
ice. The komatik just behind me was given Dr. G. by 
Peary and was within ninety miles of the Pole. 

It is nearly May and I can't see that the snow is any less 
than it was, and the ice in the ponds is over four feet thick, 
as I found out the other day when trout fishing. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 155 

The Wascoppie, the H.B. Co. boat which goes every 
summer to Hudson's Bay, came in or rather anchored to 
the ice off the harbor. She had 27,000 seals aboard and 
about 150 men. A glue factory is perfume to a sealer. We 
were up all night treating scurvy, venereal troubles and 
other nice diseases; nice because a doctor can really cure 
them. They came in with a dying man, but he died of ap- 
pendicitis just a few miles from here. I autopsied him and 
found his appendix rotted right in two. On board was a 
loud-mouthed guy from Cincinnati. I was pulling his tooth 
when he discovered I also was a native of the Queen City. 
He said, "Doc, how would you like to be sitting in People's 
Theatre with a swell Burlesque show going on and a glass 
of Wiederman's beer in your hand and a good stogie in 
your mouth?" I told him I wouldn't mind the glass of 
beer. I think the Captain of that boat one of the finest- 
looking men I ever saw. He is a real Kipling character; 
very little to say, but that little of great interest; the kind 
of man you would like to be with in any tight place. 

A disease called "spring-grouch" is running riot here. 
Everybody except Dr. G. is touchy. . . . 

Grant lives in the same bedroom with me now and is a 
most desirable room-mate. I do like to sleep in the same 
room with a man I like. Evans I like more and more. . . . 

Later. 

Still no boat and ice blowing in. 

As I telegraphed, I have exhausted the reading supply 
here. I hope you send some books by the first Prospero as 
I asked. I have learned while sick last year and this year 
how to be content and happy during the so-called lonely 
times if I have good books. I don't prefer reading to ex- 
citement, people, etc., but I can get along very well on it. 



156 LETTERS OF 

I can't read Scott any more. Also, I tried "David Cop- 
perfield " again, but had to give it up. It bores me to tears. 
I wanted the books I wired for to give to Miss Bryce (" Bab 
Ballads") and Dr. Armstrong (Drummond). I have read 
"Paradise Lost" and "Paradise Regained"; glorious as 
poetry, but uncongenial. Add a lot of Milk of Human 
Kindness and Humor to Milton and I believe these would 
be the perfect epic poems of all time. 

The poverty here is beyond belief; hardly anybody has 
anything but flour and tea left. Scurvy, beri-beri and starv- 
ing babies everywhere. By the way, I saw Caspar Henry 
Patey the other day. He is very unattractive, but healthy 
with not a scar (the age of miracles has not passed). I wish 
you would send me some little present for him, baby clothes 
preferred. Send something pretty with blue ribbons. 

Why don't you and Father blow yourselves to a fine time 
this summer? A house in England or on the North Shore. 
It seems to me as if, with the exception of your health, you 
have nothing to stop you doing just whatever you want to, 
and there are very few people in the world who have both 
freedom and money. Do go and have a really good time. 

Good-bye, for I hear the boat has left Conche and will be 
here any moment, and then I will be on duty for a long time 
I fancy. 

Please tell Mary G. that a long letter to her is guaran- 
teed to leave on the Prospero. I have only written to you. 
Monk Jones and Jim Marvin ^ so far. I certainly loathe 
to write. 

Thursday, March zjth, 1913. 

Taking stock all day. Miss Cannon has helped me all 
day, for which I am deeply grateful. Miss Bryce and Dr. 

* James Marvin, Esq., Harvard, '89, of Cambridge. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 157 

Armstrong have pretended we were taking stock in our 
"draper's shop" and made many thin jokes at us. I called 
Miss Bryce, who was emptying slops, a tweeny, and Dr. 
Armstrong, who was filling a tooth, a dentist, which 
rather cramped their style. I pulled my fiftieth tooth to- 
day. I am a regular little demon with forceps. 

Friday. 

Still taking stock. How I hate that sort of work. 

I have tried a new scheme. You remember "The Pass- 
ing of the Third Floor Back." I have tried out this scheme 
on Miss , all other means having failed. At great per- 
sonal inconvenience I have been just as nice to her for sev- 
eral days, as I possibly could. I have really made a Hercu- 
lean effort; offered to do all sorts of things for her, compli- 
mented her, asked her specially to take a walk with me, etc. 
Well, it worked!!! She thrives on that sort of treatment 
and really seems perfectly ^cuj//^/*?. It is a marvellous dis- 
covery, for if / can do this with Miss there must be 

something in this theory of being consciously decent to 
people you don't like. However, the game wasn't worth the 
candle; too great an effort with too little returns. I shall 
return to the old method; polite (if possible) when she is 
around, but keeping out of her way as much as possible. I 
am going to try this out on Parson Dahl; if it works with 
him, I have verified this theory and really proved more, 
for I am, of course, not the "Third Floor Back." Anybody 
can be the Third Floor Back who wants to be. 



Saturday. 

Finished stock! Hew!! 

We were operating all morning. Dr. A. is certainly a 
beautiful surgeon. He is as skilled with his instruments as 



158 LETTERS OF 

a violinist. Both his hands and his brain are beautifully- 
trained. Precision and decision describe his work; genius 
and inspiration Dr. Grenfell's. I must stop to catch the 
mail team. 

May 3, 1913. 
Well, the noble attempts of the Government to get the 
Sagona here and so win votes failed. She got stuck in the 
ice about one hundred miles south of here for four days and 
went back with all mail, supplies and patients to St. John's. 
This has given everybody the "spring-grouch." I went off 
on a little trip to Lock's Cove, twenty-two miles away, and 
have just returned. The trip back took eleven hours through 
the slush and was the hardest day's work I ever put in. I 
was wet to the skin, as there was deep water on top of the 
ice everywhere, but I had to work so hard that I never was 
cold. If I had waited another day I would have had fine 
going. . . . 

May 5. 
I WAS delighted to hear about Scho^ and have opened up 
negotiations with him. I can imagine nothing I would like 
better than to be able to go off with him for the summer. 
Of course I can't do this without money, and I don't think 
I should go, anyway, as Dr. Grenfell says he will need me 
badly as he expects to be short of medical help. Still Scho 
could come wherever I am, pay board, go with me on trips 
and take numerous trips by himself. I have put it up to him 

^ Schofield Andrews, Harvard, '10, became a lieutenant-colonel of infantry, 
A.E.F. Served with 90th Division Staff. He writes, "Poor dear Cap! I can 
spare him the least of my few intimate friends. There was no one who was so 
congenial and beloved a companion. But with all the sorrow of losing him I am 
very proud, as I know you are. Proud of the fight he has just made and proud of 
the fight he made in France. He died for us all as surely as if he lay in France 
with Dill and the many gallant gentlemen we will never forget." 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 159 

squarely, I think, but it was a great temptation to show him 
only the rosy side. My, won't I enjoy being with a person 
with a sense of humor again? Dr. Grenfell and a man 
named Rube Sims are the only two human beings at pres- 
ent in North Newfoundland with a real sense of humor. 



May 6. 

We had an operation which lasted from eleven until three, 
cancer of rectum. I etherized and got so much myself that 
I am positively drunk. Let me tell you that anybody could 
have had my job for a nickel. The old boy, sixty-six years, 
stopped breathing twice and I brought him to with artifi- 
cial respiration both times. Dr. Grenfell, particularly, has 
repeatedly given me responsibilities beyond my skill. I 
haven't killed anybody yet, but I will some fine day, and 
in the meantime I have had a good many anxious moments, 
for I don't fancy the idea of somebody being killed by me. 

May 7. 
Some letters finally came by dog mail. I shall not regu- 
larly answer your letters, but I will say that I am glad you 
have gone home. It is a false idea that I will never be con- 
tent to live in Cincinnati. To spend the next ten years at 
home with only a two weeks' vacation in the summer, such 
as I would get if I had a "job" in some big office, would 
be loathsome to me. I would rather infinitely spend ten 
years cut off from all civilization up here and I believe at 
the end of ten years I would not be so narrow. If I had 
something to work at where I would not be confined to an 
office every day, where I was being thrown into contact 
with many people, I don't care of what class, for all people 
are interesting; where I would sometimes be sent away or 
where at least I would not be a mere cog in a great money- 



i6o LETTERS OF 

making machine I would like it. I don't see any reason why 
you should have confidence in my abihty to do anything 
well, for I never have. Even here I am not sure that I have 
done very well. In fact I sometimes think I am doomed to 
be a failure. I often try to analyze the causes of this and 
I can assure you that there are more than one. I lack ideals, 
ambition, or imagination, or whatever you want to call it. 
I drift; I swim around in circles; sometimes I swim hard and 
even fairly well, but I never get any nearer the land, for I 
never swim twice in the same direction and most of the time 
I just float. Result; at twenty-six years of age I have done 
nothing and am still drifting. . . . 

Here is the bright side, however. I have gone through 
long periods, two years at one time, when I did not believe 
in Christianity, either as a fact or as a good working basis. 
You and I will never be able to take our religion in the same 
way. Yours is the best way, perhaps; you know what real 
love is in a way that I probably never will. Well, I had to 
find another method. I said to myself, I may not be able to 
love people, as you, Spence and Father do, but I believe 
Christ showed another way for me. I consciously tried to 
be kind to people, I tried to do what they wanted me to do 
for them and I tried not to judge other people; I have often 
failed, but I have tried and I believe been rewarded. I may 
not be a better man than I was, but I believe both in Christ's 
Divinity and in the need of following His teaching. I be- 
lieve in trying things which we can't do. I believe in being 
helped and trying to help others, I believe in trying to be 
humble, I believe in admitting it to yourself when you 
know you have done wrong; some day, perhaps, I will soften 
and know what love means; that hasn't come yet. Working 
by the side of a man like Wilfred Grenfell and having the 
education and brains to reject practically all his fancy ideas 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. i6i 

(none of which he lives) and at the same time reading G. K. 
Chesterton and the Bible has affected me intellectually. 
Leading Chesterton's life and reading W. T. G.'s books 
would jar anybody's faith. If I am going to change let me 
start by asking your forgiveness. ... I can't say more and 
have never said as much to any soul before. 

Cap. 

June 4, 1913. 

The Prospero arrived a week ago "leaking like a lobster 
pot; steering like a dray," as Mr. Kipling has it. The ice 
blew offshore a bit and she made a dash for it alongshore. I 
don't know the proper nautical term for it, but had the wind 
changed there would have been a Prospero sandwich with 
ice on one side and Nfld. on the other. The coast needed 
her; scurvy in every house and the conditions generally 
pretty grewsome even to me. We had given out every 
single fresh vegetable we had months ago, and to tell you 
the truth a fresh potato tasted pretty good to me, for drink- 
ing lime juice is a poor way to keep off the scurvy. 

We got forty patients and lost Dr. G., who has gone to 
St. John's. I won't go into details, but I hope I don't often 
have to put in a harder week's work and I am still at it. I 
am sitting up all night tonight. It was four days before I 
read a letter. . . . 

Do come up here in the fall, if you are able to. Why not 
sail from England to St. John's, or else go home and take 
either the Cluett or an Allan liner from Philadelphia to St. 
John's. Don't go by rail. Personally I think it would do 
you good to come by the Cluett. I would love to have you, 
but don't come until the last of September or October when 
this mob of summer volunteers has ceased to litter up the 
place. . . . 



i62 LETTERS OF 

Good night, my patient is trying to die on me, and even 
I don't dare shoot any more nitroglycerine and strychnine 
into him. I have nursed twenty-six pneumonia patients, 
eighteen alone away from here without a death, but I think 
this fellow is going. 

St. Anthony's, Newfoundland, 
June 23, 1913. 

Dear Mother, 

I HAVE been having it (work) come thick and fast since 
last I wrote you. I went across the Straits to open up 
Battle, got iced in and was head over heels in work. Then 
I returned and for twelve nights sat up all night with 
Israel Dean who was trying his best to die. As I came on 
duty again at noon and had my regular work to do, I have 
really been all in. But now two medical students have 
come and I am taking things easier. . . . 

It is curious that, when money means so much to me, 
I deliberately side-step all paths which lead to it. I know 
the reason for this; — I wonder if you do? 

I have no desire for lots of money; I don't care to marry 
(knowing I should be a hopeless failure in this state); 
I don't care about running a big establishment, a motor, 
etc. Nor do I care about giving away large sums of money 
to organized charities. I hold very strong views on this 
latter subject, and my views are those expressed in the 
Bible (as I read it). Without you give love "charity" will 
be barren. I would rather give a quarter to a bum to buy 
whiskey with, than to pay the wages of a clerk to run a 
card catalogue in an organized Charity. "Charity" seems 
to me to have two objects; (besides being pleasing to God) 
permanently to help the person to whom it is given, and 
to help the person who gives it. Organized Charity may 
do the former (in spite of all statistics I am dubious of this); 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 163 

it rarely helps the giver. See St. Paul, You can't organize 
love — and you can't buy it (you can buy popularity 

which is a cheap imitation). To take a concrete case ! 

If she knew shop girls, gave them pleasures, advice (when 
they asked for it), took them off somewhere to a boarding 
house for a holiday (without advertising the fact), she 
would become a saint and do good, instead of being a prig. 
I don't blame her, she does what she thinks is fine. Or 
take this place: I could take any report of the work of this 
place and pick it into shreds. But Dr. Grenfell's love, as 
well as to a smaller extent that of others, does not appear 
on the report. This I may add he seems totally uncon- 
scious of. The other day when Miss Bryce and Miss Can- 
non left, all the women in the hospital were crying, and a 
big man gulping away said: "It's hell to have them sis- 
ters go." This is Charity. Dr. A. gives "Imperial Philan- 
thropy," and he is like many Americans as a result; almost 
every day somebody brings a salmon to Dr. Grenfell, and 
another one to somebody or another, but never one for 
him, which sours him on life. . . . 

It is a far, far better thing to go through life without any 
definite scheme and help people as they come along. You 
have always done this; as the result of this there are many 
people, from your servants up, who you have given real 
Charity to. For this side of your life I take my hat off 
to you. For all your work in the Maternity Society, Ex- 
change, etc., I don't give a damn. There are other aggres- 
sive females willing to do this sort of thing who are not 
made of fine enough texture to do the other. If I was to 
give away large sums of money I would give them to 
music, etc., as Major Higginson has done. I do not be- 
lieve that the "dregs of society" can be "lifted up" by 
the "froth" (and you and I are froth); they must be dis- 



i64 LETTERS OF 

solved by the body of the liquor from which (in America) 
they have both just come. Here endeth this priggish 
sermon. 

I wired you that the Strathcona was condemned; her 
boilers blew out at seventy-three pounds!! Rather lucky 
we didn't start in her, wasn't it? 

We go North in the Floradel, which is a pretty yawl 
about six feet shorter on the water line than the Zara. 
The crew is Captain Grenfell, Wilson Jock (a dusky gentle- 
man of uncertain extraction) to run the motor, and C. H. 
Burton, Jr., who is able seaman, medical assistant, purser, 
commissary, general cook and private secretary. We are 
loading the boat now and have got the engine running. 
I am very pleased that the Doctor still wants me. He said 
the other day, "Burton, I hope I am not mistaken in the 
estimation of your grit, which I made this winter. You 
will want most of it." This is the first compliment I have 
ever received from him, and I am very proud of it. 

I don't think there is any danger in this trip, but unless 
Dr. Grenfell weakens and crowds us still more, I fancy 
I will be on the jump. We shan't leave till Dr. Little 
comes. 

You keep speaking of my writing, I did consider it. My 
answer is furnished by Dr. Johnson, "Why, Sir, if a man 
would abandon himself to it, he could write such stuff ad 
infinitum." The public likes such stuff, but even if I could 
write it, I won't. 

Unless strong reasons are presented I want to stay here 
another winter at least. This being the case you will want 
to see me, I know. Will you come here, or shall I come 
home for a couple of months in the fall? As to your coming 
here, these are the facts: By rail it's a terrible trip. On the 
Prospero, unless you have rare luck Father would be sea- 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 165 

sick most of the time, and you could not eat the salt meat, 
bean, prune diet. You could get a good stateroom, fairly- 
clean, and when you could be on deck, which would be 
much of the time, you would have one of the most glorious 
trips you ever had. You would also be greatly interested, 
I know. Coming by the Cluett would be luck. You would 
love Captain Pickels, and love the voyage, if good. If bad, 
you would have altogether a devilish time. The food in 
any case would be terrible. But you might manage it some 
way. To take a maid would not do for several reasons. 
The easiest way might be to sail from England to St. 
John's, and then come on the Prospero. After you once 
got here you would be very happy, and I will guarantee 
to have you stay at either the Grenfells' house, which you 
might even run for a time, or at the Littles'. The food is 
heavy and nearly all canned, with fresh meat once a week, 
and very few eggs or milk if we have T.B. patients, who get 
first call on that. There is constant wind, but I know you 
would be comfortable and very happy. Father would love 
it. He and I might go off after caribou for a week. I have 
not painted anything either dark or over-rosy, except that 
Father would have the time of his life. I don't know 
whether you could stand the trip. About this I am very 
dubious. I am used to the food, but realize that it is bad. 
The other alternative is for me to go home for a visit. This 
is simple, as I don't care where you are, how long I stay, 
or what I do. It would be no hardship for me to give up 
both of these schemes and stay right on alone, but I know 
you want to see me, and I should like to see you. 

I should like to go home, I should like to have you come 
here. I won't take the responsibility of the latter course, 
except in saying that I think you would be comfortable 
once you got here, and I know you would be happy. But 



i66 LETTERS OF 

I have seen some husky nurses come up both ways, and 
even they were pretty well done up when they got here. 
The Cluett was twenty-one days on her first trip. 
Give my love to Alberta, George,^ Cousin Betty,^ 
Cousin Jo,^ Mrs. Harris ^ and Mrs. Lewis. ^ 

Love, 

Cap. 

This letter reached Mother in England. 

August 20, 191 3. 
Dear Mother, 

I HAVE not got a letter in well over a month and have had 
almost no chance of getting one off. I gather from rather 
garbled Marconis that you and Father are coming to 
St. A., and so wired, "Splendid." Until then I had a 
scheme for going home to meet you in Boston on your ar- 
rival and possibly coming back with you in case you were 
coming. But Dr. G. said he wanted me (by wire) and that 
you were coming. He also wired me to take the Floradel 
here. Our engine gave out, so Wilson Jock and I alone 
brought her here. Just between you and me we had a bad 
time of it, as neither of us knew the coast and our charts 

^ George and Alberta Montagu, now the Earl and Countess of Sandwich. 
George depicts Caspar both as he is and also in his relation to Father when he 
writes of the "pluck and courage with which he was so fully endowed," and 
"he has been your playmate as well as your son." 

^ Cousin Betty, who is Mrs. Leggett, writes : "Jo has sent on the sad news and 
glorious too of Caspar's fight. One stops to think that death is the path of us all, 
very soon for most of us, and few will be able to show his record of fight." 

^ Cousin Jo, Miss MacLeod, writes: "A glorious fight indeed! God bless him 
and you all. The loss, the sorrow of it all somehow seems enshrined in victory. 
He had his own values, never the world's. The world always seemed secondary 
to him, as existing, but of minor import." 

* Mrs. Leverton Harris, an intimate friend in England. 

* Mrs. Lewis, of the Cavendish Hotel, where we had always stayed in London 
since Caspar was a little boy. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 167 

are very vague. Some time, while alone^ I will tell you 
about the trip. Don't let any one know we had any trouble, 
but between you and me, I was more or less nervous for 
quite a time and I find that now that it is all over I am 
having trouble sleeping (the last few nights). But some- 
how or other we got her here without a scratch and I can 
tell you she won't leave here until Dr. G. comes, which 
will be the next mail steamer. Then, of course, we will be 
O.K., for he is the best pilot of this coast and a marvellous 
hand with a boat. Besides, we may have our engine fixed 
and I have already fixed our compass which was three- 
fourths of a point off. When I will be in St. A., I don't 
know. In fact, I know nothing about anything. I can't 
get mail or discover what anybody wants or is planning. 

I only spent one day in St. A., in the last two months. . . . 
I did see the Littles and so got some news of you. Just 
what my plans are, I don't know at all. I have not had a 
talk with either Dr. G. or Dr. L. about next winter. If 
they seem to want me badly and if they will agree to one 
or two conditions, I will stay. I want to go home this fall 
for a spell, but if they need me badly I might give up even 
this. All this, however, we can talk over at St. A. 

In case we get home early I might be able to get to St. 
John's and come up with you, but don't count on this. 

Good-bye until St. A. I don't see how you can reach me 
until then. Heaven only knows where we will be. 

The Duchess went down off Battle Harbor with Miss 
Bryce aboard, but nobody was hurt. She was a beast of a 
boat. Don't let Father talk you into going to St. John's by 
train. Go by either the Stephano or Florizel from N.Y. 
to St. J. 

We have a tame wild goose aboard the boat. It lives in 
a soap box and is a dehghtful pet. It hasn't the slightest 



i68 . LETTERS OF 

desire to leave us and struts about so chic that I have named 
her Mimi. 

I have just taken a little trip North to Hopedale, on the 
steamer. Never have I seen happier looking humans than 
the Eskimos are. They are all tiny. (I saw several hun- 
dred of them and I was a large man amongst them.) 
Good-bye till St. A. 



That autumn Caspar returned home for a few months. 
All his plans for Father and Mother joining him in New- 
foundland miscarried. This was due largely to not getting 
letters from Mother. Fifty-three of her letters were finally 
returned to her. They had tracked him for months up and 
down The Labrador, but never overtook him. 

During his visit with us he talked all the time of his year 
in the North and of his new friends there. One story he 
told stands out in my memory. A company of movie stars 
arrived on The Labrador that summer to "film" one of Sir 
Gilbert Parker's Canadian romances. As Caspar hap- 
pened to be at Red Bay, where they landed, he acted in 
the picture. In order to keep the village people out of the 
range of the camera he had to use the strong language they 
understood. That night, in the hut, where they were all 
sleeping, he heard the leading lady say to her husband, 
"The little Doc may be a missionary and he may be a good 
one, but believe me, Kiddo, he ain't always been one." 

He certainly by that time was more of a missionary than 
a medical student. He would not even consider returning 
to the Harvard Medical School then. He was keen to re- 
turn to the Mission. The work there obviously needed 
doing. He said that, of course, there was plenty of good 
work to do everywhere, but that in cities he always thought 
that if he did not do it some one else would and do it better 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 169 

than he could, so he let "some one else" do it. In the 
North he knew that if he did not do it, it would not be 
done. He was glad to go back to where he saw he was use- 
ful. Also he was glad to return to his new friends there, 
and above all to the wilderness. 



J 



II 

THE SECOND WINTER 

Government House, 
St. John's, Newfoundland, 
Thursday, Dec. l8th, 1913. 

Dear Mother, 

I HAD a safe trip up; more than that I do not care to 
say. 

On arrival I was met by such a distinguished military 
gentleman (who turned out to be an orderly) that I almost 
called him General! Mrs. Davidson ^ had me come right 
here where the Jones' ^ and Millie Fowler already were. 
Wasn't it kind? Olga had fixed it all. 

Curious work this keeping up the dignity of the Crown 
(very costly too). His Excellency, the Governor, is charm- 
ing and very interesting. A.D.C. (see Price Collier) just 
suggested a game of bilHards to me. During it I thought, 
"It's that man's job to be agreeable to you; he's paid for 
it." Ugh!! More about this later. 

Here's the other side. On the train I talked (in the 
second class) to four guides. One of them (a famous 

^ Mrs. Davidson, the wife of the Governor of Newfoundland. 

^ Miss Mary Jones and Maury Jones, the younger sister and brother of Arthur 
Russell (" Monk ") Jones were, with Miss Fowler, all volunteer workers from New 
York. Miss Jones writes: "To me, he always seemed plucky, above everything 
else, and kindly, with an indomitable spirit. Up North, where he was most cer- 
tainly loved by all, Maury and I grew very fond of him. I shall never forget a day 
up there, when he went on some of his professional visits across the Harbor and 
I accompanied him. When we entered a Httle house, and Cap's smiling face ap- 
peared in the doorway, he was welcomed as if he were loved, and not just as one 
of the Mission. He saw his patient, of course, but sat down and talked with each 
and every member of the family, and laughed with them. You know how happy 
it made one feel to laugh with Cap." C. Maury Jones enlisted in the French 
Army, Aviation, May, 1917. Transferred January, 1918, to Escadrille Lafayette, 
U.S.A.; promoted to captain and commanded 28th Aero Squadron. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 171 

guide) has been guide for about every distinguished man 
you ever heard of both English and American. He (as did 
they all) held forth; he said, "Well, I has guided for Mr. 
Elihu Root (and dozens of other names) and I never saw 
an American yet who wasn't sociable-like. But damn the 
English aristocrat, I never saw one yet who would sit down 
and smoke a pipe with a fellow." This lasted for hours and 
finally about ten more joined in and spoke as one man. 

Curious thing this ability to govern and govern well 
people who don't like you. I think much about this and 
will write more. . . . 

Mary and Maury are even more delightful than I im- 
agined. Maury and I hit it off splendidly. Mary has a real 
sense of humor. She keeps me in roars of laughter. She 
is a lady's edition of Monk, which is a delightful combina- 
tion. . . . 

But what amuses me is Miss Fowler thinking she was too 
young to run the Guest House!!! Why, she could run the 
Tennis and Racquet Club and make it really hum! 

And Monk! Why, Mary Jones has forgotten more about 
Monk than I ever knew! What's more, I fancy she has got 
me very nearly pigeon-holed. How I don't know. She 
said, "I got a telegram. It said, 'Monk sends love to 
Cap,' but it was signed 'Mother' and that just made fifty 
words." 

Tell Father I just gave his check to Mr. Sheard. I told 
him to use it for the Strathcona's boilers and that I wanted 
to give it anonymously. I hope you don't mind. 

We won't get to St. A. for Christmas. 

Bear Cove, Christmas, 191 3. 

Well, here we are. St. A. tomorrow. This is the most 
glorious Christmas morning I have ever seen. This part 



172 LETTERS OF 

of White Bay is heavily wooded. The evergreens covered 
with snow are glorious in the warm sunshine. The saloon 
is heavily decorated; at meals you feel as if you were sitting 
in a kaleidoscope. The girls have a Christmas tree; a 
turkey has been reported; I have on a collar and a sprig of 
holly. But the real joy of Christmas is that all the men 
left on the boat are so Christmasy. I hoped we wouldn't 
get to St. A! Festas there are ghastly. 

As it happened, about twenty-five of the men I like best 
on the shore are aboard. It does seem rather nice to be 
treated as an old friend in such a simple way. I have had 
a great time with everybody from Father Thibault to 
Skipper Bill Pilgrim. The former is a wonder, even the 
Methodists and Church people like him and joke with him. 
He told Captain Kane that it was no wonder he could run 
at night. He said, "Protestants are good at that, because 
they live in darkness." McKinley has just brought the 
"Terra Nova" home to St. John's from England. He is 
rich on the subject of it. He said, "Mon, I was na in com- 
mand of a ship but a dime museum." He has 

Lauder beaten easily. . . . 

I have had a poor time with one man; he has had five 
epileptic fits, and gets rough. 

All the boxes got to St. John's O.K. . . . 

Si. Anthony, Jan. 12, 1914. 

Well, here goes for a long letter, as the Prospero ought 
to be in soon. We had a lovely Christmas on the Prospero, 
as I wrote, and got in here the next day, where we were 
met by everybody. 

I am living in a very nice room in the hospital. It really 
looks attractive with my books, of which I am getting 
quite a collection, your pictures, etc. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 173 

Now as to the personnel! Good and bad! First for 
good! Joneses and Millie of course. Millie is even more 
donative than Dr. Armstrong; she has endless crates of 
good things which she distributes very freely. Also they 
get on beautifully with Miss Spaulding. I have had many 
meals at the Orphanage. It is delightful there. Millie 
also has a fairly good dog team with a driver. . . . 

You have to see Dr. Little here to appreciate him. He is 
gorgeous. Altogether the best man I ever saw to work for. 
The morning I got here he said, "I am giving Levi Luff 
a general anaesthetic. I want you to fix him up." This 
meant that I had to take out nine teeth, open up an enor- 
mous abscess under the jaw bone, scrape it out and chisel 
out a lot of dead bone, insert the proper drain and sew up. 
He came into the operating-room from time to time, but 
did not offer any suggestion. I later had a long talk with 
him about my work. It was like talking to his classmate, 
Edgar Wells. After it was over I knew just exactly where 
I stood; what I could do and what I couldn't. I knew that 
he would back me up on the former and come down like 
a sledge-hammer on me if I tried the latter. He has and 
will put more responsibility on me than I had last year. 

But this is only one side of him. He is a thorough gentle- 
man, knows how to do things, and is very witty. I sat 
up all night with him on an obstetrical case; there is no 
way really to know a man unless you sit up all night with 
him. We had a delightful time. He is two men; J. Mason 
Little, M.D., sharp, exact, dignified, businesslike, and 
Johnny Little, the soul of geniality, with whom I can talk 
freely as with my own friends. It is remarkable how we 
seem to agree on life in general. Mrs. Little is charming. 

Dr. Hamerick, the house officer here, I like very much. 
He is younger than I. What is very dear of him is that he 



174 LETTERS OF 

has never given me an order yet. He always says, " Will 
you please do," or "Let's us do." Incidentally he is clever 
in handling me this way. He insists that he is not my boss; 
of course he is and knows it, but isn't it decent of him to 
handle the situation this way? 

He is an excellent doctor and very keen on it. He is 
bright and jolly and lets nobody run over him. Anything 
connected with medicine interests him, nothing else does. 
That will come later, I suppose. So far, fine. 

Miss is the most improved person I have ever seen. 

She has actually become pleasant, efficient, and has, thank 
goodness, almost lost the "missionary spirit." 

Somebody has made me out to be the professional funny 
man of the Mission. Ugh! You can imagine how this leads 
to verbal activity on my part. 

Miss McElderry, who is head nurse here, broke down 
under the work and is in charge of the guest house. I knew 
her at Battle last summer. She is one of the most charming 
ladies I have ever known. I see a good deal of her, and the 
more I see her the better I like her. More of her later. 

There is also a chap named Bisbee who teaches school; 
very nice apparently. There is also a very earnest Eli, 
named Parsons. In his favor be it said that he plays the 
'cello nicely, but he does even that a little too earnestly. 

John Evans is back in form again. I am more fond of 
him than ever. . . . 

I saw Booth ^ at Englee. He told me that he will be well 
after this winter. Again Dr. Grenfell was right when all 
reason seemed against him. I hope that he will be up soon. 

*■ Walter C. Booth, of New York, writes: "I knew Caspar very well in New- 
foundland and we saw much of each other. We had several cruises together and 
spent a great deal of time in each other's company in lonely places where men are 
apt to try their tempers. Caspar and I always seemed to get fun and humor out 
of such situations. I grew to love him very much." 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 175 

Maury Jones has gone to Flower's Cove with Dr. Little 
to see Parson Richards. 

By the way, we have a clergyman here, a Mr. Vivian,^ 
who seems fine! He has been away on a trip!!! ^ He is 
young and looks a gentleman. Like all Newfoundland 
clergymen he is very "high," which, as near as I can make 
out, means that they wear habits. Curious thing about 
Newfoundland's High Church. They go in very strong for 
being called "Father," for all the little catchwords which 
so annoy Low Churchmen, and then they only have Holy 
Communion once a month at 11 o'clock. It seems about 
like Mozart opera with the music left out. . . . 

Gov. Davidson sent us a lovely telegram. "Merry 
Christmas. You are all the right sort. You deserve to be 
Britishers, but bear up under the handicap." . . . 

Prospero coming. I must stop. 

Jan. 25, 1914. 

Well, as the mail goes out here goes for a good long let- 
ter and I shall now try to write more, as the mail should 
be fairly regular now. 

Things go on much the same here. Hospital work, trips, 
reading, chess, etc. 

As Kipling says (roughly) : 

"The Lord knows where we may go, dear lass, 
The deuce knows what we may do ; 

But we're back once more on our own trail, the old trail, 
We're down, hull down on the Long Trail, 
The trail that is always new." 

Do you like this? L'Envoi, it is called. . . . 

I have been either away on short trips, or here while Dr. 

^ Rev. N. G. Vivian became a Chaplain in the R.N. 

' Caspar had thought Fr. Vivian's predecessor lazy and neglectful of parish- 
ioners living at a distance. 



176 LETTERS OF 

Hamerick took long trips in which case I have been in 
charge here. You may laugh at this, but it is a fact. I have 
real ability for one thing, I can keep nurses and other good 
people from scrapping if I am boss. Here is the trouble, 
ambition. Now Dr. G. or Dr. L. want to be head, but 
why? Because they feel that there is work to be done 
which they can do better than anybody available. If a bet- 
ter surgeon were to come along, willing to do the work, 
either one of them would gladly play second fiddle. But 
this is not the case with most ambition here. Why, what 
sort of a man would I be if I resented the fact that some 
new medical student will come here next summer and do 
the jobs which I am doing now better than I do them? 
Any fellow who has this work at heart would feel grateful, 
and do something else which he can do better than any- 
body else or do nothing and still feel grateful. Seeing all 
this as I do, I have the key to all the brawls which con- 
stantly come up. Most of them amuse me. . . . 

I have read lately "Pride and Prejudice," "Emma," 
"Jane Eyre," "Les Dieux ont Soif," "Life of Benvenuto 
Cellini," that book of six plays of Beaumont and Fletch- 
er's, two books of Ben Jonson's plays, Marlowe's plays. 
Life of Alexander Hamilton, General John Regan and, 
for the thousandth time, "Tartarin de Tarascon" (how I 
love it). Will you get me a catalogue of that Everyman's 
Library, and I can get you to bring me up some more books 
when you come? Get Judith ^ to suggest some French 
books, not on the sex problem. I run towards books which 
are called "smutty," but am bored with these degenerate 
attempts to solve serious problems. I read "Les Avaries" 
(Damaged Goods), but it isn't nearly as good as Osier's 
" Syphilis " or nearly as entertaining. 

^ Miss Judith Colston, of Cincinnati. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 177 

Isn't France producing any Tartarins, Cyranos, Mo- 
lieres, or even Rabelais? Tell Judith she must produce 
them somehow. I know she reads a great deal of French. 
Henri Bergson is the man of the hour in French thought, I 
fancy, but I have all his things here. He is fine. He is a 
modern and yet he misses all this muddle-headed think- 
ing called Pragmatism. Royce in his new "Philosophy of 
Loyalty" misses it also. ... 

There is not one case of sickness where there were ten 
last year, but it may only be the calm before the storm. 

I will try to write often now that the mail is started 
regularly. 

Feh. 22, 1914. 

I HAVE just come back from a long trip. I had a delight- 
ful time, but very dirty weather, quite cold with a southerly 
gale. What do you mean by sending us cold weather.'' 
You must be having it at home. I don't think I ever saw it 
really cold before with such a wind. 

I see by the papers (daily telegraph news which we are 
supposed to get) that Lord Strathcona is dead. Tom 
Bromfield's father used to sell him furs at the following 
prices: Prime mink or fisher, one sewing needle; otter, one 
axe; silver foxes, two barrels of flour. I suppose the Strath- 
cona has helped even things up a bit, but!! . . . 

I play a great deal of chess. It is far better than any 
game of cards. Just between you and me I seemed to have 
found something (unprofitable) at which I have talent. . . . 

I bought a very fine silver fox; a prime skin with almost 
no silver hairs, about as near a black fox as they come. 
For that, three fine reds and a patch fox (a beauty) I gave 
I500.00. Had I more money left I would give this to you. 
I am too stingy for that, but you may have it or them for 
what it cost. Should you not care to keep it I feel sure that 



178 LETTERS OF 

they will bring double that figure, probably much more. 
Understand I am not hinting that I want the fox myself. 
I won't take it, but you are welcome to it yourself and sell 
it by all means if you don't feel like keeping such a valuable 
thing. It is pretty generally admitted that it is the finest 
bit of fur caught in North Newfoundland in years. Inci- 
dentally Cy Grenham, from whom I bought it, was down 
to flour and tea (no butter, milk, sugar, meat or anything). 
I gave him what cash I have here and shall wire Father to 
send me post-office money orders for the rest of it, as he 
needs the money, and as I can't cash such a check here. . . . 

I am going off to the bungalow on the southern side of 
Hare Bay with Maury for a holiday, during which we hope 
to snare several hundred rabbits for food. Short cuts here 
are short cuts. If you can cross the bay you save fifty 
miles, more or less. I have been doing most of my own dog 
driving. As I am very light, travel with an axe, medicine 
box and toothbrush, I am well liked by the Mission team, 
which is very fine this year. 

I went to Griquet and back, eighteen miles each way, 
and saw three patients before lunch the other day. There 
is not one case of sickness where there were ten last year, so 
that I am not hard worked. 

Mary Jones got a startling letter from some friend, who 
had conceived the scheme that she and I were in love with 
each other. The friend asked Mrs. Nourse ^ about it, and 
Mrs. Nourse said, "It seems very probable." I wonder 
what Monk would have said; but, my word, if Monk is 
eligible I am. We have had great fun over it. Mary said, 
" I told you of this engagement because I thought it was 
something you really ought to know about." . . . 

I reason along into thinking very well of the Roman 

1 Mrs. C. J. Nourse, of New York. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 179 

Church and then, bang, I come upon some policy of theirs 
which makes me shout, "Go it, Luther." 

By the way, if you can put your hands on any statement 
of the High Church position about this African Commun- 
ion squabble send it to me. I have read the Bishop of Ox- 
ford's and Lord Somebody's speeches; I admire them for 
not trimming, but really I absolutely side with the other 
side, but surely the clever High Churchmen have some 
point to make. Send it to me, I am willing to be changed, 
but it will take something sound (not spiritual) to do it. 
I feel that G. K. can clear this up, if he will. 

March, 1914. 

I haven't written for a long time because this will get to 
you before my letter would have. Dr. Little is taking this 
to you. He is going out for his sister's wedding, but really 
because his ears are still bad (I think). At any rate he will 
see you and give you the news. . . . 

Dr. Little will see Dr. G. in the States and will tell you 
what I am to do this summer. I have not the vaguest idea 
what they will want me to do. Certainly it will be ar- 
ranged for me to be here when you come, but I can't ar- 
range things here. . . . Tell Kitty ^ I have set Dr. Little on 
her trail, but to arrange matters with Mrs. G. I am going 
part way out with Dr. Little, returning slowly doing medi- 
cal work. 

I must tell you that I was vaguely considering joining 
an expedition to Baffin Land with Captain Pickels, but his 
wife won't let him go. Fancy Pickels having a wife who 
can boss him ! I don't suppose he sees her once in two years. 
At any rate it is all off. Dr. Little will tell you about it, if 
you are interested. 

^ Miss Catherine Anderson, of Cincinnati. 



i8o LETTERS OF 

I hope you can realize sometime what John Little has 
been to me. Taken all in all, day in and day out (except 
about twice a month when he is grouchy), he commands 
my admiration more than anybody I have ever known. He 
has never once praised me or my work, except to tell me one 
day that I had medical ability. What you might miss in 
him is his fun. It lies deep, but is there. We talk at each 
other like two old cronies. He has not always taken life 
seriously, and still has the point of view of a somewhat 
wild undergraduate. He looks ugly facts about himself 
and others in the face and calls a spade a spade. He looks 
at things curiously as I do at my best. 

Did I write you that the "swiles" (seals) struck in for 
the first time in fifteen years? Esau Hillier made about 
a thousand dollars in three days, and everybody made 
fifty dollars at least. I went out among them. I suppose 
I saw at one time 5,000 baby seals. They cry just like a 
baby. You walk out and biff them over the head with a 
gaff, then tow them in after skinning them. Of all danger- 
ous jobs this is the worst. Only one man was lost, but why 
only one is a mystery to me. If I never see it again I have 
once seen real adventure. I of course was only where it 
wasn't really dangerous. Tell Dad that when I see him 
I think I can beat Jack London. You rush out on the ice, 
jumping from piece to piece, some of them went four miles 
out, get your seals in tow and start back. Now the ice 
moves along faster than you can walk and if it got past the 
Cape before you hit land you went out to sea on it and be- 
fore you could be rescued you were a mere dot. Men went 
out here and tried to hit land at the Cape, but many of 
them had to be rescued with row boats at the edge of the 
ice. 

I have since been treating a case of violent mania at 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. i8i 

Griquet, caused by a combination of exhaustion and fright. 
The poor man keeps shouting, "Slip your swiles, byes! 
Jump! Jump! Open waters to leeward! Why in hell don't 
the skipper get me?" I was told it was a case of pneu- 
monia and I made a diagnosis of an absolutely normal 
man, outside of brain. Sealitis was a new disease for me, 
but I made the diagnosis just the same and curiously enough 
was right. Everybody has fresh meat now, no scurvy this 
spring, I fancy. My, but those young seal are good to eat. 

I of course saw all this merely as a spectator and only 
went out a short way on the ice. Of course all the sealers 
are off here. Captain Kane has 20,000 already. . . . 

The seals are all gone now and we had our sports last 
week. I was very much touched by the fact that I had 
a dozen and a half seals brought to me as presents. 

I am leaving here at four tomorrow morning, so will try 
to get a few hours' sleep. We have a dying man here, who 
I am specialing. That is the worst sign, when I am put on 
to special anybody it is all over but the shouting. This 
fellow still has a chance, however. 

We hope to get to Flower's Cove (sixty-five miles) and 
possibly Brig Bay (eighty-three miles) in one day, and, as 
I am driving the Mission team, I will have somewhat of a 
day. I am taking Mr. Redpath, who weighs 190 and has 
asthma, to Brig Bay, where he gets a team to take him to 
the railroad. The dogs are rested and simply wild to go, 
because they are stuffed with new seal. 

Saturday, June ist, 191 4. 

It has been a long time since the last, but there has been 
no boat here as yet, except the Sagona which finally got 
here, three weeks out from St. John's. The Prospero got 
to Lock's Cove, twenty miles from here, but couldn't get 



i82 LETTERS OF 

through. Dr. Little got off there and walked in. He gave 
me all the news of you as well as your letters. It is a pleas- 
ure to see him looking so well. I have been travelling all 
spring and have been having a glorious time. On the 28 th 
of April I struck one of the nastiest days I ever hope to see, 
as bad as February weather. I had a lovely visit with Booth 
in Canada Bay. . . . He is one of my very best friends. 
You ought to see us coming over a hill with a dog team. 
(I have been travelling without a driver.) He weighs about 
250 pounds stripped, without one ounce of fat, and I may 
remark that for me to steer him down hill between trees is 
exciting. I put in two days' medical work. One fellow 
drove the breech block of a Winchester, entering just un- 
der his right eye, clear through the bone into the mouth. 
He picked it out and walked home and isn't going even to 
lose his eye. Then I went trouting. Booth says, "I don't 
think it bad that you don't shave or dress, but it is time 
to change when you will fish for trout with pork." Tell 
Father I got sixteen dozen one day. . . . 

By the way, I do think that I have real ability to get 
work out of dogs. The delicate art of "having good hands " 
is nothing compared to the skill of getting dogs to work. 
There is only one man out of a hundred who can drive dogs 
and I fancy if I was to drive dogs for ten years I could rank 
with them, certainly not in less time. 

Life in the Hospital has been hell on earth. . . . The 
more I see of people who want to improve others (not love 
them), the more I think there is to be said in favor of the 
good-natured or even the good-for-nothing gentlemen. 

But one thing is apparent to me now, and it is real. It is 
the poor people who are going to heaven. This is the great 
fact; and very, very few of our friends really believe it. 
With this fact stowed away I see things, all life in fact, 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 183 

a bit differently. Christianity is the doctrine of hope for 
the unsuccessful. I hear people say, "Honesty is the best 
policy," "Whatever good I do I get my reward for it." 
My word, but this is exactly the opposite of "The first shall 
be last and the last first." Moreover, I maintain that if you 
or I or anybody was in the eyes of God doing His will we 
wouldn't be successful, we wouldn't get recognition. . . . 

I can't write this, but let me tell you I have had many 
a long think about this sort of thing. It seems to me that 
you must be either a Christian or a Socialist. I am down 
on Socialism because I believe that God picks out for the 
good things of the world to come the people who haven't 
had the gilt of this world. If I wasn't a coward I'd act on 
my belief; as it is, I would gladly take all the money I could 
lay my hands on. But we will talk this all over. 

Now as to plans: I go to Indian Harbor when the ice 
goes off the coast. I am to stay there until Dr. Grenfell 
goes North, when he is to pick me up in the Strathcona. 
I will be back some time about the first of September, not 
before. I will wire you or rather wireless you when to start 
for here and we ought to get here about the same time. 
Dr. Little wants you to stay with him. But as the Gren- 
fells have invited you you will probably stay with them. 

Indian Harbor, 
July lOth, 191 4. 

I HAD a long wait in St. A. for the ice to go out. During 
that time I took a trip South to Harbor Deep. About fifty 
people live there; twenty-seven had beri-beri. One died 
just as I got there and another later, twins, fourteen chil- 
dren, all under eight years, in debt, leaky house, dry flour 
only. I carried provisions. Shipped most of the sick ones 
to St. A. and generally tore things up. At Conche my en- 



i84 LETTERS OF 

gine broke down (Clip Sturgis' old boat). I came to St. A. 
on the Prospero; spent twelve hours there, working with 
about seventypatients;went back to Conche, started North, 
got pinched by ice in Croe Harbor; left the boat there. 
Went through about thirty-five miles of ice in Norris trad- 
ing schooner to Goose Cove and walked from there home. 
Navigating a ninety-ton clumsy schooner behind a forty- 
mile breeze, through pan ice, comes very near being ex- 
citing. 

I found Grenfell just arrived at St. A. ... He is just as 
fascinating as ever. . . . He put me in as skipper of the 
Floradel. Will Sims is engineer. The engine never could 
be even started. Harry Parker ^ is cook. He is a delight. 
I picked him out because he didn't seem "earnest." I had 
enough of earnest Yale boys last summer. Harry just 
stayed in Harvard long enough to get into the Pore. I 
don't think I ever took more of a liking to a young chap. 
We had a fine trip North in spite of ice. Find it very wear- 
ing work being in charge of a boat in ice. I had forty-eight 
hours on watch, only going below for meals. I don't care 
for much of this. It is very cold. We finally got through 
the ice into Hawke's, July 4th. We couldn't furl our main- 
sail because it was frozen stiff. I didn't kick on the cold 
this winter, in fact I didn't mind it, but really it does seem 
as if this is overdoing it a bit. Tell Father I caught a string 
of brook trout standing on a dead whale at Hawke's Har- 
bor. A whale factory is there. I start back tomorrow with 
the "Yale." Thank goodness the ice is offshore now. 

When I get to St. A. I don't know what I shall do. If 
there is real work for me to do, which won't be done unless 
I do it, I shall stay right on. If there isn't, I shall probably 

^ Henry McB. Parker, Harvard, '15, enlisted as seaman, 2nd class, U.S. Navy; 
overseas duty; became an ensign. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 185 

come home. I won't stay here just for the sake of staying 
here. ... If they set me a useful job when I get to St. A. 
I shall stay right on until you come anyway, whether I like 
the job or not. I won't ask for the jobs I know I can do 
and want to do. 

I shan't squeal, but I have been having pretty near my 
full capacity of work lately. I have only had my clothes off 
twice in three weeks and I find it hard to keep pleasant. 
I know I should murder one or two of those earnest sum- 
mer missionaries in St. A. I am going to board across the 
Harbor with Noah Sims when I get to St. A. I can't bear 
that mob, particularly the kodak girls. Did I tell you that 
I have been reading Shakespeare from A to Z? 

July 2jth, 1914. 

Just after I wrote my last rather blue letter to you the 
old "Invermore" went down seven miles from Indian. I 
had just been talking to Jacob Kean, her skipper, about an 
hour before she hit. We had rather a bad trip of it coming 
back, as the ice was bad. We were held up two days at 
Domino, which I spent on the "Senator" and "Maxine 
Elliot," two Gloucestermen. My word, but they have good 
food there! I will tell you all about them when you come. 
Old Axel Lager, a Dane, the skipper of the "Senator," 
would have delighted Kipling. They can't get through the 
ice. We kept between the ice and the land, and their com- 
ments on this country are gems. 

I found the Strathcona here. These are my sailing or- 
ders: "Take Yale to Indian Harbor when engine is in- 
stalled. Bring back Floradel. When Dr. Morgan leaves 
(he leaves Sept. 15th) I want you on Strathcona until she 
stops running (about Nov. ist)." ... I figure on getting 
back here about the 20th of August, but this is guesswork. 



i86 LETTERS OF 

pure and simple. At any rate you come as you plan to. 
I will wire you from Indian if I think you had better come 
sooner. Whether you will stay at Grenfell's, Little's or 
the Guest House I can't figure out; at any rate come. Also 
whether I will be able to go home the ist of November and 
come back on the last boat I can't figure out. But it will 
have to work itself out somehow. . . . 

If you come on the Prospero you will love Captain Kean, 
and if you can make him talk you will hear talk, far more 
interesting to me, at any rate, than any talk I ever heard 
in a drawing room. Also get to know John Field the mate, 
and above all McKinley the Chief Engineer. Harry Lauder 
is a poor imitation of Mac. Get to know him if you have to 
go below and pull him out of an oil cup. One time he had 
a peripheral neuritis. I told him it came either from lead 
or alcohol poisoning. With that wonderful Scotch twinkle 
in his eye he said, "Mon, I'd be gettin' that I suppose 
from oilin' so much Babbit metal." 

Don't go to Battle Harbor unless I should telegraph you 
to, as no steamer has yet been to Battle. Possibly I might 
meet you somewhere on the way down here. At any rate, 
come. . . . 

Directly after this date War was declared. The follow- 
ing telegram from Caspar made Father and Mother aban- 
don all their plans to join him in Newfoundland: 

St. Anthony, N.F. 
Aug. 4, '14. 

Unless situation Europe changes inadvisable coming 

here. You might get held up either going or coming. 

Wireless communication Labrador stopped today. Unless 

change I shall probably come home on Gloucesterman or 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 187 

some American vessel, but may be held up myself. Wire 
if you can get it through. Will be here some time proba- 
bly. Everything in tumult. 

Late in the autumn he escaped from the tumult, but 
not on a Gloucesterman. From some harbor on the Gulf 
of St. Lawrence he telegraphed: 

Aboard Canadian lighthouse tender. Headed Quebec. 
Valet to reindeer. 

He was more than a valet to those reindeer; he was resi- 
dent physician, day nurse and night nurse to them. They 
were seasick. He did not want to lose them, for he was 
going to be well paid for them by a department store in 
Toronto. They were to be the chief advertisement of the 
store for Christmas. 

His voyage, with two nauseated reindeer, on that tiny 
steamer from The Labrador to Quebec, stopping at every 
lighthouse on the coast, should have been put in a letter. 
We got only telegrams, for he delivered his reindeer in 
Toronto, and went from there directly to Cincinnati. 

He was full of the War. He talked of little else. Even 
then he saw clearly that it was not a fight about European 
boundaries. He talked constantly, intelligently and ear- 
nestly about this being a War for Right, a war that con- 
cerned Americans just as truly as Belgians, French or 
English. Not many Americans in those days had the vi- 
sion to agree with him. They thought he had become " pro- 
British" by living and working two years with English- 
men. As a matter of fact his attention and his interest 
were as completely diverted from The Labrador and The 
Mission as if that were a closed chapter of his life. 



i88 CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 

While he was in New York, Mr. Robert Bacon offered 
him the position of a dresser in the first American Flying 
Ambulance Corps. He longed to accept. We urged him to 
do so, or at least to telegraph Dr. Grenfell asking to be 
released from his promise to return to St. Anthony for the 
winter of 1 914-15. Practically all the English doctors and 
nurses had left The Mission for war work. Dr. Grenfell 
had begged Caspar, as an American, to carry on at St. 
Anthony. He had agreed to do so. He wanted to get into 
the War, but he simply said, "I have promised Dr. Grenfell 
to return to St. Anthony and I will not treat my promise as 
a scrap of paper." 

He induced Bruce Graydon to go North with him for 
the winter, and arranged to take the last boat that would 
be able to get to St. Anthony before the harbor was frozen 
until spring. 

He returned to keep his word to Dr. Grenfell. His heart 
was in the War. 

Just before he left Boston for the North he said to me, 
"As soon as the ice breaks next spring I am going to leave, 
and Fm not going to fight the battles of the Allies from a 
leather chair at the Harvard Club." 



Ill 

KEEPING HIS WORD 

Jan. 12, 1915. 
Dear Mother, 

We had a better trip than usual to St. John's, but it 
is pretty bad at that. . . . 

The first bit of news which greeted me was that not in 
forty years has this country known such ice at this time of 
year. I was also told that the Prospero could not possibly 
reach St. A. ... It was worth taking a chance on, how- 
ever, so off we came. More of this later. . . . 

Now for a sort of log of the trip. Anybody except Bruce 
and I would be mad by now. Every day it has first looked 
as though we would get there and then as if we wouldn't. 

Tuesday. 
Left wharf 2 p.m. Harbor covered thin ice. Coming 
out through Narrows solid field of heavy Northern slob ice 
about three miles off coast, but wind W.S.W. driving it 
out. Straight course to Bay de Verde, beautiful crisp day, 
loose sish ice. At Bay de Verde Bruce saw his first fishing 
village and fishermen; his remark on the latter was, "My 
God, Cap, they are a different kind of animal." 

7 P.M. Old Perlican Bight filled up, couldn't get in. 

8 P.M. Put across bay for Trinity; slob ice, heavy, went 
through it full speed about as fast as a man can walk. 
About eleven picked up schooner, tight in ice; towed her 
Trinity. Looked very bad for St. A. 

Wednesday. 

Wind light N.N.W. Just barely able to get around Cape 
Bonavista. Thick snow, stopped, and way out at sea saw 



I90 LETTERS OF 

schooner frozen in ice flying distress flag. Spent whole day 
getting within two miles of her. Two of our crew walked to 
schooner and rescued skipper of schooner (his crew had 
deserted several days before) after which they set schooner 
on fire. Flames of schooner very beautiful on ice. Whole 
day lost. St. A. looks out of question. 

Thursday. 

Fine S.W. wind driving all ice away from coast. Quite 
warm. St. A. looks near. Made Wesleyville for night. 
Bruce the perfect travelling companion, but hasn't "got 
the hang" of these people yet. 

Friday. 

Same wind, made Seldom-Come-By, a very good run. 
One of the days when things look bright. 

Saturday. 
W. WIND. All day butting ice; running into a few hun- 
dred yards, then backing and getting a fresh start and 
making a few hundred more. Captain Kean talked for 
about two hours in the evening about seals, very interest- 
ing. Bruce nearly dies over everybody calling me Doctor, 
particularly today when I had to take a few stitches in a 
sailor's hand where he had cut it. Sunday all day covering 
a few miles to Nippers Harbor. We are only passengers 
left. Even chance St. A. 

Monday. 

When we got to Cape John solid jamb of Arctic ice. 
Went back to Little Bay where I telegraphed you. All 
hope about gone. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 191 

Tuesday. 

Thank God. A strong S.W. wind, ice going out again. 
Just able slip around the Cape, but could not get into any 
of next ports of call. In loose ice all day. Made Jackson 
Arm last night. Very fortunate, people had all their winter 
flour on board. Went ashore with Bruce; saw several sick 
people and many old friends, amongst them a small boy 
who we have apparently cured of T.B. of hip. Bought two 
hind quarters of caribou, one 38 lbs., other 47 lbs., for 
$3.60. Oh, this high cost of living! Today conditions here 
perfect — strong W. wind. We really should reach St. A. 
or Conche today. I can get to St. A. from the latter by 
dogs. I will add a line to this when I find out where we will 
reach. I won't be able to write you after I get to St. A. by 
this boat, as she will let us out on the ice probably a mile 
or so from the wharf and will leave right away. 

The dog mail has started earlier, I believe. Just left 
Harbor Deep. Straight St. Anthony. Lots of luck. Lots 
of love. I am going to try to write often. 

St. Anthony, Jan. zjth, 191 5. 

The first mail goes out tonight, which is much earlier 
than it has ever started before. 

It seems very strange here. The hospital is closed, all 
except the out-patient department. This, however, we 
keep heated and have fitted up as a sort of operating- 
room, where we can do about anything which can't wait 
until spring. I thought at first that this was going to 
give me very little to do, but the opposite is the case. 
It simply means that people who would have been in 
the hospital before come here and board outside in the 
Harbor. . . . 

Dr. Grenfell has been in Canada Bay trying to fix up 



192 LETTERS OF 

a strike at the mill ever since I have been here. I haven't 
seen him yet. 

We are very comfortably settled. Bruce and John 
Evans, as well as Bowditch live in Alec Sims' (Dr. Little's 
dog driver's) house. I live, or rather sleep, in Uncle Joe 
Pilley's house, near by, and eat with them. We have a 
room fitted up very nicely, and I have never been so com- 
fortable since I have been here. . . . 

Bruce is a joy, and he and John Evans hit it off beauti- 
fully. He likes it very much, but Dr. G. hasn't seized on 
him yet. He has done nothing so far, as Dr. Little refuses 
to take hold of things at all. 

Bowditch plays chess which is very good fun and cards 
are now being played, but I won't; I can't play for fun. 

I brought a son into the world for Will Sims the other 
night, and it is named Burton Sims. Graydon nearly died 
over this. Miss Dove, one of the two nurses here, helped 
me. She is very nice and tactful. She worked for a year 
with a big obstetrician in New York and you never could 
have told but that she thought I was doing a perfect job 
(it was a forceps case too). 

I have to hurry to catch the mail. Will write a longer 
letter next week. 

During that winter he wrote very few letters. Life there 
had become an old story to him; also he was not interested 
in it. His frequent telegrams showed enthusiasm only 
when they were about the possibilities of leaving St. An- 
thony and getting into the War. We proposed several Red 
Cross jobs to him. The following telegram is characteristic 
of his attitude toward such proposals: 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 193 

St. Anthony, N.F., May 5, 191 5. 
Would go France or anywhere if needed, but do not feel 
call to pull wires for job. Nothing doing in Newfoundland 
along this line. Under height limit here. 

He had tried to enlist in a Newfoundland regiment. He 
knew that was really getting into the War. His spirit was 
not "under height limit," even if his body was. That was 
always the case. His big spirit always made his little body 
undertake and put through things beyond its power. That 
he was turned down the first time he tried to enlist did not 
give him the comfortable idea, "Well, I have offered my- 
self. No man can do more than that." He knew he could 
do more than that and he proceeded to do it. 

Before steamer could get through the ice that summer 
to St. Anthony Caspar and Bruce had set out in an open 
boat for The Labrador in order to be picked up by any 
passing steamer. That was his way of getting into the 
War. With him he carried this letter from Dr. Grenfell. 
It is the connecting link between Caspar's life on The 
Labrador and in the War: 



St. Anthony, Newfoundland 
June, 191 5. 

This is to certify that Caspar Burton has served with us 
as volunteer assistant for three years. His early education 
and a year and a half at the Harvard Medical School pre- 
pared him to take full advantage of the unusual responsibil- 
ities essential to our work. He has frequently administered 
anesthetics for our operations — has done any quantity of 
minor surgery — knows about bandaging, splinting, re- 
storatives, stimulants, haemostases, and the full ritual of 
antiseptics and asepticism. He should be an admirable 



194 CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 

man for the flying ambulance work. He Is brave and un- 
selfish. His entire work here has been freely given for the 
sake of others only — a better, tenderer, better qualified 
non-registered man you couldn't find. 

{Signed) Wilfred T. Grenfell. 



IV 
THE WAR 

1915-1919 



WAR RECORD OF CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 

July, 191 5, enlisted in the Hector Munro Ambulance 
Corps (Commissioned Lieutenant in British Red Cross). 
Served with French Marins. Engaged in battle of the Yser 
for six weeks. Enlisted October 29, 191 5, as private in 
29th Battalion, Royal Fusileers, British Army. Stationed 
at Epsom, Oxford and Edinburgh. Promoted to O.T.C. 
at Oxford, July 11, 1916. Commissioned 2nd Lieutenant 
October 16, 1916. Gazetted to 4th Battalion, King's 
(Liverpool) Regiment. Stationed at Pembroke Dock, 
Wales. Went out to France, December 8, 1916. En- 
gaged in the Battle of the Somme — Battle of the Ancre — 
Battle of Arras. Led attack on Hindenburg Line at Fon- 
taine-les-Croisilles in the Battle of Bullecourt. Wounded 
May 20, 1 91 7. 

Casualty Clearing Station — Duchess of Westminster 
Hospital at Le Touquet — London Hospital — Princess 
Christian's Hospital — Princess Christian's Convalescent 
Hospital and the Reading Military Hospital. Marked for 
"light duty" October, 1917. 

Stationed at Fermoy, County Cork, Ireland, October, 
1917, to February, 191 8. Transferred to American Army, 
February, 1 91 8. Commissioned ist Lieutenant. Went out 
to France in A.E.F. March 17, 191 8. Assigned 2nd Army 
Corps, A.E.F., April 1,1918. On detached duty with Brit- 
ish from May to middle of August, 191 8, at Cherbourg. 
Recalled to Headquarters of 2nd Army Corps August 20, 
1918. 

Engagements beginning September 29, 191 8: 

Attack on Hindenburg Line north of St. Quentin. 



198 CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 

Capture of Bohain and Montre Bohain. 

Attack on Le Salle River. 
Landed in U.S.A. February, 191 9. 
Honorably discharged March, 191 9. 
Died as result of wounds March 24, 1920. 



I 

THE HECTOR MUNRO AMBULANCE CORPS, 
FLANDERS 

The Vanderhilt Hotel, 
New York, July 2, 191 5. 
Dear Spence, 

Thanks for all you have done about getting this wonder- 
ful job for me. Luck certainly comes my way. 

If I had one wish it would be that I could get America 
into this war. I cannot believe that it can ever be best for 
us to allow the greatest series of outrages in the world to 
go on under our eyes unrecognized. I don't in the least care 
what happens to this boat, for if she should be sunk and I 
should be lost I should count as one perfectly dead Ameri- 
can. This smacks of Patrick Henry, but I feel like P. H. 
these days. Amongst your convict friends haven't you 
some one who feels that he just must kill some one, he 
doesn't much care who? Well, I will pay his fare until he 
lands Bryan and I'll hire good lawyers to get him oif if it 
can be done. . . . Love, 

Cap. 

The next day Caspar sailed from New York. On landing 
at Liverpool, he went directly to London and enlisted in the 
Hector Munro Ambulance Corps. He was commissioned 
Lieutenant in the British Red Cross. This position, to 
which he refers in his letter to me, was secured for him be- 
fore he landed in England by our cousin Lady Sandwich. 

In London he encountered great difficulty and much red- 



200 LETTERS OF 

tape before he could procure the papers necessary for him 
to get to Flanders. This delay, however, proved intensely 
interesting, because of the novelty of meeting intimately 
hundreds of men on leave. They were to him an eye- 
opener. At this time he met some Harvard friends, Walter 
Oakman, "Bunnie" Morgan, Oliver Filley, Grafton Chap- 
man and a number of other Americans who had started by 
driving ambulances, but who all had soon gone into the 
Army. They were unanimous in saying that the Red Cross 
was only playing with the War, and that Caspar wouldn't 
stick it very long. At this time also he heard a great deal 
of Dill Starr, who was then at Gallipoli. 

Written by Caspar November^ igi^jfor Mother s 
War Scrapbook. 

My short experience with the Ambulance is really very 
hard at this date even to remember. I have been since that 
time so much more in the war that this period seems almost 
unreal. 

As a first view of the war, however, it was very interest- 
ing. I crossed from Folkestone to Boulogne with a man 
named Gurney who was taking over a new Fiat Ambu- 
lance. After much red-tape we finally got away and drove 
through Calais and Dunkirk to Furnes, about five miles 
from the front line, reaching there about midnight. I still 
remember the thrill of seeing my first gun-flashes and flares. 
In fact I remember that most of the night, which we spent 
in the Ambulance on stretchers, I was awake watching 
what I supposed was a battle. I also remember feeling I 
was pretty well in the midst of things ! ! The next day, how- 
ever, came a big surprise. Everywhere were civilians 
calmly going about their business. The town was shelled a 
few times a week, but was still workable. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 201 

After a few days here I was moved to Coxyde, a tiny and 
very dirty little place, about four miles west of Nieuport. 
Hereafter I made from one to four trips a day to Nieuport, 
bringing back wounded and sick to the dressing station and 
then taking them on to Dunkirk. It was, of course, in- 
tensely interesting, as you had every opportunity so see 
everything. We were attached to the French Fusiliers 
Marins, and certainly never were there finer fellows or 
better soldiers. 

Nieuport was just about finished as a town, and was still 
very badly shelled, but, by using your head, you could go 
in just after a bombardment and get out before the next 
one. 

This time did for me just what it had done for so many 
of my friends. It made me see that Germany just had to be 
beaten, that it was above all vital for the United States 
that she be beaten. I also saw that driving an ambulance 
wouldn't do. There were then and there always will be not 
only thousands, but tens of thousands of older and unfit 
men for this sort of work. All honor be to the men and 
women of that class who have done this work so well. But 
I have not much praise to give to the few healthy young 
Americans who went right through the show at this game. 

Caspar, while still in the Hector Munro Ambulance 
Corps, was engaged in the Battle of the Yser for six weeks. 

8, Portman Square, W., Oct., 1915. 
Dear Mother, 

I HARDLY know whcre to begin. In one way my stay of 
seven weeks in Flanders was a glorious success. Firstly, 
the Munro people, the four who are left, wanted me to 
stay; and the rest who are going to Russia wanted me to 



202 LETTERS OF 

go with them. This seems to have been a great pleasure 
to Alberta. '^ Personally I don't care much. . . . 

Secondly. It was a great success, because I am one of 
the last non-military people who will ever live in the zone 
of actual fighting. They are almost all gone now. (With 
the British forces entirely so.) Do you realize how the 
Medical and Ambulance work stands? 

1. The Army Red Cross (in the English Army the Royal 
Army Medical Corps). These men are soldiers; there are 
Tommies, Lieutenants, Captains, etc. The officers are 
Doctors, but Soldiers. They march with, are mixed in with 
the other soldiers and they do the work. 

2. The British and French Red Cross which are "recog- 
nized," but are not military. They do the overflow work. 
They are supported by charity, much of which they waste. 
They are rapidly being shoved back and are becoming less 
and less needful. 

3. The unrecognized Volunteer Corps, such as ours; they 
hardly exist any more. 

Mother, under the laudable desire to help, hundreds and 
hundreds of people are wasting their time and money. Of 
course this does not apply to hospitals, nor was any of this 
true during the first year of the war. In short, what is 
needed is skilled doctors, nurses, and about half the willing 
helpers (volunteers of nondescript types) many miles from 
the fighting. You can bet your life the Germans don't do 
things this way. 

^ The Countess of Sandwich, a cousin, from whose London house he is writing. 
After Caspar's death she writes: "A glorious fight I can well imagine it. He proved 
that to us all for many years. Of all people I think Father Powell's immortal re- 
mark about Mother applies to him, 'He carried his cross so high others mistook 
it for a banner.' He led his life of hardship so gallantly one might almost have 
thought he liked it. He would join the army, say what I would when he was 
with the Flying Ambulance. Then as a Tommy, then as an officer, then as an 
American, with his wounds, — he was magnificent." 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 203 

I personally don't consider I did a living soul any good 
while there. I did a few things, but there were hundreds 
willing to do them. Are those hundreds willing to enlist? 
No. 

Now, Mother, one of my greatest weaknesses . . . has 
been the lack of ever feeling what you term a "calling." 
It has come at last. As you know I don't like England, and 
they are certainly stupid at present. But they are Right, 
Right, Right. One day when I saw a Taube fly straight for 
the base hospital (which stands about a mile from any- 
thing else, which was a huge hospital before the war, well 
known to the Boches, and which is covered by enormous 
red + 4-) and drop five bombs amongst those poor man- 
gled devils and directly sail back, I made my final decision. 
I was about thirty yards from one bomb and saw the whole 
thing. I helped bury, if it can be called so, what was left of 
a number of wounded. This is only one example; I saw 
others. 

My God, Mother, what is America up to ? Can the world 
allow a race of madmen to dominate the world? I can't be- 
lieve them fiends; I do believe them mad. Fiends or mad- 
men, I must do my little bit. Why don't all these young 
fellows at home who are so violently pro-Ally join? I sup- 
pose it is because you must see it to realize it. Practically 
every fellow, hardly that, but dozens of Americans who 
came over to drive cars have joined. I have met over fif- 
teen of my friends who are fighting. 

God knows I don't want to be killed and don't expect to 
be, but it is certainly a possibility which cannot be over- 
looked. But I don't think I am doing this from anything 
but the firmest conviction. I am not going to enjoy it; the 
training part will also be loathsome. I cannot truthfully 
say I do not want to kill Germans, but I can say truthfully 



204 LETTERS OF 

that I want to do it from principle and not from hate. I 
may not even be good at it, but having seen what I have 
seen I must do my bit, and it is soldiers we need, not others. 

I will write you definitely when I accept the King's shill- 
ing on Tuesday and become Lieutenant Burton of Lord 
Denman's Horse, or some such silly thing. I supposed of 
course that I would have to become a Tommy, but not at 
all. Lord Denman told me that they were plentiful. What 
is needed is men of sufficient education to be capable of be- 
ing officers. What is more I start at full pay of Second 
Lieutenant the first day. I will of course go through a 
period of training, but nowhere near as long as the troops 
go through and quite different in character. It doesn't 
seem fair, does it, that I should go ahead of sergeants, etc. 
Of course cavalry nowadays never sees a horse in Flanders, 
but they could again become cavalry in case we got 
through. I met Lord Denman at the Cavendish, told him 
my troubles, what I thought of volunteers, and Mrs. Lewis 
blew my horn and there you are. Mrs. Lewis is the most 
remarkable person I ever knew. When I arrived she said, 
" Hello, Caspar, I knew you'd come. I've known you'd 
come. I haven't guessed wrong on anybody yet. But you 
won't stick with those swine, all they do is have their pic- 
tures in the papers." 

The War — What struck you most? 

1. The great premium on brains and science and the 
small premium on strength and bravery. This was the 
most gruesome thing of all. 

2. The superiority of defence over offence. I have been 

in a tiny village about five hundred yards from the 

Germans. Every single house is down. Yet there were 
hundreds of soldiers about. On the first two Boche shells 
they got three men. Then they put in two hundred in ten 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 205 

minutes and only got one more. The way they get to 
cover is astounding. This was called a "light bombard- 
ment." Just the single shells flying around never seemed 
to get anybody, or rarely so. 

3. The fact that the brave men who are nervous are luna- 
tics, though still good fighters, while the phlegmatic man is 
fit and very jovial and a better fighter. You see you can't 
do anything when you hear one combing except drop flat. 
Well, most of them literally are totally unaffected by a 
shell coming near them as long as it doesn't connect. 
Others equally brave shake. 

4. The greatest game of brains and trying to outguess 
each other, for that is all it is. This all applies to what I 
saw, for while I was within five hundred yards of the firing 
trenches, I only had one peek in them. 

5. The fact that in view of what is going on now few are 
being killed at present. 

6. The fact that I have no more idea when it is going to 
end or how it is going to end than if I had never seen it. 

Of course the hundreds of real things I do know I can't 
write. I had two letters stopped which I wrote you that 
had nothing in them that I could see. 

I spent yesterday with Olga. Alberta is glorious. I love 
her, but she is in with the wrong set as far as things are 

concerned. She thinks Lord , who is chairman of 

Belgian something or other, is the person to see. Well, who 
you want to see is somebody who has just come back from 
the trenches if you want to get anything. Soldiers are run- 
ning this war. They will take the civilian's money, but 
they won't take his advice, or his assistance, except from 
a distance. 

Now, Mother and Father, I do hope you can see that 
what I feel is a real call has come to me. I do hope you can 



2o6 LETTERS OF 

do what parents here do. I believe in a Future Life and I 
believe that those who have died here fighting hard but 
clean have got a chance of being rewarded. At any rate 
they have done what seems to me something very fine. 
Any unmarried man who feels as I do and ran away would 
have a taint of cowardice on him which would damn him, 
or me at any rate, forever. 

Of course all this is simply facing the worst. I haven't 
the slightest feeling that I will be killed. Mortality is very 
low now and will be all winter with the exception of one 
more big fight. For months, at any rate, I shall be leading 
a strenuous life physically and also studying hard. 

One good thing, by being a cavalry regiment I won't 
get sent to the Dardanelles. 

All love to you both. Do try not to break down. Why 
not come over here where you can see me and where you 
will be with others in your same fix? I shall be in Norfolk 
and being an officer (my word, isn't that amusing?) I 
could see lots of you. 

Cap. 

Had lunch at the Embassy. Page didn't seem very neu- 
tral, but then we were en famille. 

When Caspar went to see Lord Denman at his head- 
quarters, Blickling Hall, Norfolk, he found Lord Denman 
ill and unable to see him. Although Caspar passed all the 
tests of horsemanship he could not pass the red-tape be- 
tween him and a commission without Lord Denman's per- 
sonal assistance. In his annoyance he returned to London, 
leaving word they could send for him when they wanted 
him. They never sent. 

Several friends in London promised to get him a com- 
mission through this or that influential friend. Bored by 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 207 

their delay and being keen to get into the War he went off 
by himself to enlist. As he walked along that cold, rainy 
morning to the Recruiting Station at the Horse Guards 
Parade, he said he pulled his hat down over his eyes and 
said to himself, "It's bad enough going off alone this way, 
but I'm glad I haven't a girl, with wet bedraggled feathers 
in her hat, hanging on to me and weeping." 



II 

THE TOMMY 
Epsom, Oxford, Edinburgh, O.T.C. at Oxford 

London, Oct. 29, 1915. 

Burton, 

Cincinnati, Ohio. 

Just enlisted Tommy. 

Burton. 

8, Portman Square, W., Oct. 29, 1915. 

Dear Mother, 

As I wired, I have just taken the King's shilling. In 
other words, I am a private in the Public Schools Battalion 
of the Royal Fusiliers. My address will now be Private C. 
Burton, Public Schools Battalion, Royal Fusiliers, Ep- 
som, Surrey, England. 

Waiting for a commission is slow work and I think I will 
get it just as rapidly this way, as my application is still in. 

To Englishmen it is hard work to sleep in a tent with 
some Cockney, but I shall love it. 

I must stop, as I must go directly to fall in behind a band 
and march off to Waterloo. 

The die is cast. No changing my mind now unless I 
want to be shot as a deserter. All love. 

Cap. 

London, Nov. 13, 1915. 
Regiment going Oxford for winter, probably going 
France March. Wish you could come. Could spend eve- 
nings with you. Probably get commission later, but don't 
care. Burton. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 209 

Marston Street, Oxford, 

Nov. 15, 1915. 

Dear Mrs. Burton, 

We had a very great pleasure: Caspar dining with us in 
the King's uniform. He was at our High Mass yesterday 
and surprised us afterwards by appearing at the Mission 
House. I think it is splendid of him not to have waited for 
a Commission, but just to have enlisted. 

I hope he may get a Commission presently, for, though 
he makes light of it all, there must be many things that are 
trying to him in his Tommy life. He told me that he de- 
lighted in every moment of his life as a soldier. How very 
glad he will be in years to come and how proud his children 
will be to think that he had a personal share in this great 
war. I think one feels more enthusiastic and more con- 
fident every day as to the great final issue, but it is a very 
long and terrible business. 

I hope we may see you and Mr. Burton here presently. 
Caspar said there was hope of it. 

I am most truly, 

Gerald S. Maxwell, ^ 

S.S.J. E. 

Oxford, Dec, 191 5. 
Dear Father, 

I don't know that I have any excuse for not writing. It 
is simply my old weakness, or whatever you want to call 
it, of putting off writing. 

You know I was told that I was needed at once by the 
Ambulance Corps. On arrival in London I was given only 

^ Father Maxwell was the Superior General of the Society of St. John the 
Evangelist. 



2IO LETTERS OF 

three days to get ready. Well, by hustling I was ready. I 
then found that the military authorities would not allow 
me to cross, and, mind you, this was not because of my 
nationality. Meanwhile Alberta had gone to Paris for two 
weeks. I did what I could. 

At least six Harvard men I knew told me to chuck the 
Red Cross and enlist (they all started as I did). I should 
have done this then and there, and could at that time have 
easily secured a commission (the regulations were less 
stringent). For the sake of making good on Alberta's job 
I did not do this. ... 

When I got back unfortunately all my American friends 
were away in France. Again Alberta wanted me to go to 
Russia. I refused. I determined to go whole-hog or none, 
either come home or fight; for amateurs have no business 
in the fighting zone (and now they are being kicked out). 
I was ready to enlist at once, but everybody told me to get 
a commission. . . . Well, I worked a few days trying to 
see people. Nothing came of any of my efforts, so I walked 
down by myself and enlisted, which is just what I wanted 
to do in the first place. 

There is only one way of stopping this war, that is to 
try to lay out one or two Prussians before you get laid out 
yourself. This is gruesome but true. Only by doing this 
can this war be stopped, and the awful nightmare of Prus- 
sian ideals conquering the whole world (America included) 
be demolished. 

I am sorry for having spent so much money. As I wired 
you a pound a week is plenty for me now, as I have practi- 
cally no expenses, except tobacco and movies. K. of K. 
doesn't give his Tommies much time for amusement. 

Now as to when I shall get to the Front; our battalion, 
the 29th Royal Fusiliers (Public Schools), is a Reserve 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 211 

Battalion, that is to say we fill up the gaps made by cas- 
ualties in the 20th and 21st, which are in the trenches. I 
do not see how I can be sent before February 15th, be- 
cause I won't have finished the required training before 
then. After then I may be sent any day, or I may not be 
sent for months. It all depends on how much of the 20th 
and 21 St gets wiped out. This is the best information I 
can give you, but this is guesswork. Also I think I have 
a commission if I want it, but I don't think I do. I love 
these rough Tommies and rather fancy throwing in my lot 
with my friends, for friends they are. I daily love England 
more and more. 

It was fine the other day; the Colonel called for a hun- 
dred volunteers for the Front, and, as one man, the thou- 
sand raised their hands. England is just beginning. In two 
years she alone will be able to beat Germany and she will 
never give up. 

Don't get discouraged by the papers (of course nobody 
in the Army reads them). The Germans are getting hell 
now and they are getting sick of it. If the Government (of 
lawyers) had not bungled in the Balkans it would be all 
over but the shouting. 

As to my training I must say nothing. I will say, how- 
ever, that it is the hardest work I ever hope to put in. One 
item, I weigh in full marching order 218 pounds. I only 
pray that you are well enough to come over soon. You, of 
course, alone can judge about this. But don't deliberate. 
Either come or stay. Every individual and every nation 
in any way connected with this war wh6 has hesitated has 
regretted it afterwards. I am not having an easy life, and 
I haven't a very rosy prospect ahead, in fact I am using 
all the guts I have. For once I don't want money, but I 
should like to go to the Front (not the Red Cross Front) 



212 LETTERS OF 

having been with you and Mother here. I don't feel that 
there is any danger crossing now. Perhaps it would be 
better to cross by Holland-American or American Line, 
but this submarine game around England has been killed 
or nearly so. . . . 

I had a walk with Father Strong ^ yesterday. I like him 
best of any of the Fathers. Wasn't Father Maxwell's 
death sudden? I can't see how anybody ever thought him 
cold. He almost kissed me the time I saw him. They, and 
other Englishmen, seem dumbfounded at any of us serv- 
ing, yet I have counted nineteen Harvard men on active 
service (besides a lot having their pictures taken in Red 
Cross cars). 

Well, good-bye, and let me say again how much it would 
mean to me to see you. Cap. 

Pte. C. Burton, 8908 A Company. 
29th (R) Batt. Royal Fusiliers, Oxford. 

Oxford, Jan. 19, 1916. 

Dear Scho, 

My feet are so badly blistered, owing to a two days' route 
march, that I am unable to crawl to the nearest pub, so I 
shall write to you. 

As you may have heard, I was in Flanders for a time 
driving a Red Cross car. As an opportunity for seeing 
things it was unique. I was with the Belgians, and they let 
us go places and do things which no other army would have 
done. There seems to be a general opinion in the States 
that Red Cross people and nurses stroll about No Man's 

^ Rev. Leonard T. Strong, S.S.J.E., became a chaplain in the B.E.F. He 
writes after Caspar's death: "He has been called to more effective and blessed 
work where he is; and I am sure that the call that came to him when he first en- 
listed and to which he so nobly and unreservedly responded was a real prepara- 
tion for this early call to the nearer Presence of his Lord. Yes, I know that he had 
a real affection for me, as indeed I had for him." 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 213 

Land picking up wounded. Forget it! Except with the 
Belgians, Red Cross people scarcely get in the outskirts of 
the shelled zone. The Army Medical Corps, who are sol- 
diers, do all the work, and the Red Cross (who are civilians) 
have their pictures taken and write newspaper articles. To 
show you how little the Government thinks of them, — 
under the Compulsion Bill they must join the Army, while 
locomotive drivers, miners, farmers, etc., are exempt. For 
God's sake don't let anybody you know waste money on 
that lot. Believe me, they have a surpriseawaiting them 
when they get under military discipline. 

As to what this damned show is like! Scho, the worst 
feature of the thing is the unbelievable boredom of it all. 
Month after month in exactly the same trench, continu- 
ally risking your life, though the risk is very small except 
when a "show" is on, without seeming to get any results 
for your trouble. While I was there I only saw three scraps, 
one big one and two small ones, and I can assure you that 
while casualties were fairly heavy everybody's spirits 
bucked up. 

What does it feel like to be under shell fire? I know this 
is what I was curious about. Well, Scho, bravery in the 
old-fashioned sense of the word doesn't exist. The bravest 
man who ever lived may go all to pieces nervously under it. 
On the other hand, a man not half so brave, who can take 
the thing philosophically, is all right. You can't dodge 
the devils, you can't do anything; you are either hit or not, 
so why worry. Moreover, if you do worry, you will prob- 
ably end up in a strait-jacket. To a large extent I was able 
to do the latter, but several times I was simply petrified 
with fear. On one occasion I discovered myself taking 
shelter behind a rosebush! . . . 

Of course we never were any place where a machine gun 



214 LETTERS OF 

could be turned on us. That is the one thing that every- 
body is afraid of. They are hellish beyond all belief. 

As to my life as a Tommy: — not caring to be court-mar- 
tialled I am unable to give you any details. It is more like 
perpetually running for the Dicky than anything else I can 
think of. Only it is very much in earnest. If you want a 
picture of me, walk along the street until you come to a 
gang of Italians digging up a gas main, translate the Italian 
phrases, then find a particularly small and angry one who 
is saying much and moving very little dirt and you have 
Burton. I may add that to my long list of accomplishments 
you may add that I think I can now make a nice bomb out 
of any one of 57 varieties. One thing I don't fancy is this 
bayonet business. They don't look nice charging down a 
field. ... I saw Dill Starr ^ and Oliver Filley ^ in town the 
other day. Filley (in the Flying Corps) is slightly wounded. 
Dill is just back from the Dardanelles. Oliver says he will 
be glad to get back and get some rest flying over the Ger- 
mans after playing with Dill for a week. 

I wish I could give you some of the dope on the war. All 
I can say is that I feel more confident of victory than ever. 
The Germans are getting hell now, but I fear they will be 
able to hold out until next winter at any rate. Certainly 
England is growing stronger every day, and if only we 
weren't governed by lawyers, we should improve still more 
rapidly. 

1 Dillwyn Parrish Starr, Harvard, '08, enlisted October, 1914, American Vol- 
unteer Motor Ambulance Corps, France; December, 1914, private Royal Navy 
Volunteer Reserve, British Army, Armored Car Division. Promoted 2nd lieu- 
tenant, January, 1916, 2nd lieutenant, Coldstream Guards. Promoted lieuten- 
ant. Killed in action September 15, 1916, France. 

2 Oliver D. Filley, Harvard, '06. November, 1914, to February, 1915, Ameri- 
can Ambulance Service. February, 1915, enlisted cadet Royal Flying Corps. 
September, 1917, resigned as major. Distinctions: Military Cross (British), men- 
tioned twice in dispatches. October, 1917, commissioned Lieutenant-Colonel, 
Air Service, Aeronautics, U.S. Army. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 215 

My days as a Tommy are about over. Inside of three 
weeks I will have my commission. In a way I hate to leave 
these chaps, but, although I can rough it with comparative 
ease, I must admit that it will be a pleasant change to have 
a servant, motor, etc., and "swank" about a bit. It will 
even be a pleasure to wear a wrist-watch, carry a hand- 
kerchief up my sleeve and assume a pose of boredom with 
life. 

Please drop me a line, Scho. I am too old and hardened 
a sinner to be homesick, but life hasn't been all a bed of 
roses for me, and I would love to hear some news. Perhaps 
this dejection is caused largely by being on the wagon, or 
nearly so, as I only drink beer. 

Is Eric Pearson's full name E. H. Pearson? If so, he was 
killed a few days ago. I saw him in July, but don't know 
his initials or how he spells his name. 

Better write me care of Brown, Shipley & Co., 1 23 Pall 
Mall. That will always reach me. If you get to The Fly 
give them my address. 

Cap. 

8, PoTtman Square, W., Jan. 30, 1916. 

Dear Cousin Byrd, 

Thank you very much for your doll. Cousin Caspar is a 
very naughty boy because he doesn't write his letters when 
he is told. He came here today when I was out. He says 
he is very well, and the soldier's clothes are very nice. . . . 
Caspar isn't going to fight for a long time yet. We are 
all dictating this and Caspar is writing it. 
With love from 

Faith, Drogo ^ and Caspar. 

^ The Lady Faith Montagu, aged four, and the Hon. Drogo Montagu, aged 
seven. 



2i6 LETTERS OF 

Lady Sandwich, from whose house he had enlisted as his 
official residence, wrote us after his death this account of 
Caspar composing a letter: 

"He didn't write to me at all, though I have often seen 
him take off" his coat, roll up his sleeves, ruffle his hair and 
sit down to write to you; looking as if he were taking the 
tiller of a fishing smack out to sea in rough weather. Then 
what a letter; sometimes you'd read it to me long after!!" 

By February Father, Mother and her devoted maid, Em- 
ily, were in Oxford with Caspar. He was just out of hos- 
pital, where he had been laid up for three weeks. Had it 
not been for this providential illness he would have gone 
out to France with a draft before Father and Mother 
reached him. As it was they had nine happy months with 
him in England and Scotland. During this time he wrote 
almost no letters, for they were with him. 

While he was a Tommy in Oxford he was hard at work 
in training every day, but was able to dine with them. 
Every evening he turned up at their lodgings dead tired 
and footsore. He said he hated the life of a Tommy, but 
was glad he was leading it. He loved his new friends in the 
ranks and had no desire to leave them and become an offi- 
cer. His friends, in the ranks and out of them, disagreed 
with him. His Sergeant Major, whom Caspar used to take 
to dine with Father and Mother, was emphatic in his opin- 
ion that Caspar should get a commission. As an old Army 
man he could tell Caspar how to go about getting it. Still 
Caspar was eager to go out as a Tommy. An Oxford friend, 
Mr. G. Boyce Allen, was the person to convince Caspar 
that he ought to be an officer. Caspar always disliked 
bother, red-tape and responsibility. These seemed to him 
unavoidable in getting and in holding a commission. He 




2y ~ (tyw t^ya/t.,^yiou^y ^:Z/./^//^^U 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 217 

preferred the discomfort and irresponsibility of a Tommy. 
Mr. Allen argued, "A man of your education and experi- 
ence is not giving his best if he does not get a commission." 

That argument convinced Caspar, for it appealed to his 
generosity. 

While he was still a Tommy he had to be in billet at 9.30 
every evening. Imagine Cap having to be in every night 
by half-past nine! All glory to the British Army for such 
a victory! Mother drove to his billet one day to see if he 
were ill, as he had not turned up for dinner the night be- 
fore. A hansom in Cranham Street was an event. All the 
women of that slum hung out of the windows. The wife of 
the workman, in whose house Caspar was billeted, dropped 
Mother a curtsey and said, " Oh ! Mam, are you his mother ? 
I always thought he must be a gentleman because he never 
complained of anything." 

That seems to me the perfect tribute to Caspar. Living 
and dying "he never complained of anything." 

This remark was not surprising, but inside the house 
revelations awaited Mother. In a letter to me she writes, 
"I was shown his room (oh! my!), but above all I was taken 
in Granny's room (aged eighty-one). She is toothless and 
a regular Mrs. Gummidge. She said, 'He is a nice boy. I 
haven't no fault to find with him. He lets me kiss him each 
night. It comforts me so'!!! Caspar, who has discouraged 
me kissing him, ever since he was five years old! He can 
do no braver act in France. He ought to have the D.S.O. 
How strange it all is ! All the discomforts of home and none 
of its joys." 

Of his Oxford friends, when he was a Tommy, he often 
spoke of the members of the Conservative Club. They 
were mostly choirmen, upper college servants and the 
highly respectable of "the lower middle class." He had 



2i8 LETTERS OF 

become a member of the Club in order to have some place 
to go evenings before Father and Mother joined him. As a 
Tommy he was not eligible to a "gentleman's" club or a 
first-class hotel. Shortly after he was admitted to this club 
(initiation fee two bob), whether as a result or as a coinci- 
dence is not known, there was posted this notice, "For the 
duration of the War no more new members will be admit- 
ted to this club owing to the shortage of beer." 

On April 3rd Caspar was ordered to Edinburgh. On the 
7th Father and Mother found him very ill in the Craigleith 
Hospital. It had been the Poor House and looked as if it 
still were. There, under dreary discomfort, they found him 
wonderfully plucky. He was in acute pain with adhesions 
from his old appendix wound. There was even talk of 
" boarding " him out of the Army, as physically unfit. Cas- 
par was determined that this should not happen. He per- 
suaded the commanding medical officer to wait and see if 
he did not improve. Fortunately for his military career no 
operation was necessary and talk of him being physically 
unfit stopped. 

Day after day he carried on the dull routine of barracks 
life as one of the 5000 Royal Fusiliers in Edinburgh. Al- 
though he often brought this or that fusilier to the hotel 
for a bath, a loaf and dinner with Father and Mother, his 
talk at this time was all of the Scotch. He loved them and 
their humor. He acquired a large repertoire of priceless 
Scotch stories, gathered indiscriminately from Lady Con- 
stance Emmott, the Bishop of Argyll and the Isles, Lord 
Guthrie, Mrs. Haig-Ferguson, the Jocks or some chance 
acquaintance on the street. 

All this fun was a blessing to him in those days in Edin- 
burgh, for it was a time of discouragement. Draft after 
draft of men went out to France, but he had to carry on in 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 219 

barracks. This was because he had been recommended for 
a commission, and so his name was on a list of men who 
were not to be sent out. He was bored and discouraged. 
He was "sore" that his friends had ever persuaded him to 
apply for a commission. He had enlisted to fight Germans, 
and this commission business seemed to be permanently 
frustrating his purpose. Finally, to his great relief, he was 
assigned to a draft for France, got the usual six days' leave 
and went to London. There his friend. Col. Allen, of the 
4th King's, saw him, heard his story, went straight to the 
War Office, cut all the impeding red-tape, and, as a result, 
Caspar was sent on July nth to the O.T.C. at Oxford. 

That promotion came to him as a sort of honor, on his 
twenty-ninth birthday. It bored him, for it meant the 
postponing of his escape from training and his going out to 
France. He honestly did not want to be an officer. 

He was billeted in Keble, and after his life as a Tommy 
he spoke of sleeping on a mattress on the floor as if that 
were almost enervating luxury. He found, however, that 
the discipline and the work were anything but enervating. 
Father, with a not unwarranted curiosity, one day asked 
Caspar how he learned he must obey. Cap replied: **One 
dreary day in the meadows beyond the railroad, I was 
standing, waiting orders, and turned my eyes to watch a 
freight train crawl off to London. I got 'pack drill' for 
three days. It was the most innocent thing I had ever done 
and the heaviest punishment I had ever had." 

The discipline, the work and the study put Caspar in 
finer trim than he had ever been in his life. His whole be- 
ing was alert. He had at last an adequate motive for using 
his brains. It always used to exasperate me that he would 
not do so. I knew he was capable in college of doing A 
work; instead, he could get C's by overhearing what his 



220 CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 

friends said of the courses and proceeded to do so. But in 
the O.T.C. he recognized that study was connected with 
his purpose and so he studied as never before. The result 
was that, when it came to the final examinations, he passed 
third in a class of five hundred cadets. He disclaimed any 
intellectual superiority. "The other cadets," he said, "had 
not been to Harvard. We do not get an education there, 
but we do learn how to pass examinations." 

He was gazetted 2nd Lieutenant, King's (Liverpool) 
Regiment, and on November 6th went to Pembroke Dock, 
South Wales. 



Ill 

THE SUBALTERN 
Pembroke Dock, France, Hospitals, Reading, Fermoy 

Ritz Hotel, Piccadilly, 
London, W., November, 1916. 

Dear Spence, 

Thanks for the cable! For the first time I really am 
glad that I was finally persuaded to go in for a commission. 
I am also rather glad that I won it, rather than having it 
given me by some "brass hat" that I met at dinner. 

Father looks and I believe is very well. ... In his de- 
lightful way I think he is as keen about the war as anybody. 
I wish he would get a regular job in a hospital, for I think 
he has real genius with that sort of thing. I don't think 
they will go home until after the war. Really I pity you 
having to stay in America, our poor, dear country! What 
is going to come of it all? One thing I can assure you of, 
we are hated both here and in France almost as much as 
the Huns. 

I feel, and all the Americans in the Army feel, that we 
are really doing two things; our first job is to kill Huns, but 
we are also accomplishing something by being in the Army. 
For every Englishman now knows that there are lots of us 
with them, and their gratitude is almost embarrassing at 
times. 

When I used to think that I didn't like these people 
I had only known the upper classes. . . . But the Tom- 
mies!! You can't beat them, and they are going to win this 
war in spite of everything. If only a combination of French 
brains and British privates could be got together! 



222 LETTERS OF 

The regiment that I am going to is the one of all others 
I would rather be in. With the possible exception of the 
Connaught Rangers it is the toughest in the Army, but I 
don't think I am exaggerating in saying that it is as good 
as any when it comes to fighting. Nothing very gentle 
about that lot. . . . 

Love, 

Cap. 

Isn't there anybody enterprising enough to murder 
Wilson ? 

Nov. 14th, 1 916. 
B. Coy., -^rd King's 
Bangeston Camp, 
Pembroke Dock. 

Dear Mother, 

Well, I am unable to find out what is being done with 
me, but the best opinion seems to be that I will be here two 
weeks to two months, but this is only a guess. There are 
three thousand King's here and B. Coy. is in huts about 
one mile from the town. Major Whalley is in command of 
B. Coy. He is charming. There are five subs under him, all 
nice. Had a good game of bridge last night; spent today 
as orderly officer; easy job. The men strike me as the best 
soldiers I have seen, but no first-class jail would take them, 
I am sure. . . . 

'^rd Batt., The King's Regt., 
Nov. 19, 1916. 

Nothing more as to when I may be going, but I find 
that the general opinion is that I am not likely to be here 
long, and that they must give me some leave before I go. 

I am so happy here and so comfortable that I am 
ashamed to say I am not as anxious as I was. Major 
Whalley and the four Subs here I like enormously. Spen- 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 223 

cer, the chap I room with, is one of the Sergeant Majors 
that Col. Allen sent back for a commission. He is one of 
the finest chaps I have ever met and very good fun. He is 
an old Army man and has been invaluable in putting me on 
to things. He worships Col. Allen; said that if he has any 
fault in the world it is being too kind to his men. 

Major Whalley, an old Army man, is delightful, and 
I think we hit it off very well. I am fortunate in being at 
Bangeston Camp under him instead of at Hdqs. at Pem- 
broke Dock. You can't imagine how well we live and are 
looked after. The work is intensely interesting and very 
easy and light. But the thing which pleases me most is 
that I had never believed it possible that a unit of the Brit- 
ish Army could be as perfectly run. These men get just 
about twice as much training in a day as we got in the R.F.^ 
and I haven't seen half an hour wasted yet. Literally 
everything (particularly cooking) which I thought poorly 
done in the R.F. is perfectly done here. As an example the 
other day after lunch the Major said, "By the way, the 
General of the Western Command is coming this afternoon, 
but carry on as usual." And we did, without losing ten 
minutes' training!! The men are the hardest lot I have 
ever seen anywhere, bar none. Tough does not do them 
justice. The nice youth of the rosy cheeks does not exist. 
I should think over half of them are "light duty" men 
waiting to go back. The rest are mostly wild Irishmen. A 
large proportion seem to live in the guard room when they 
are not working. In orders yesterday was, "No. 10096 
Pte. McGuire has proceeded to H.M. prison Wormwood 
Scrubs." But one only has to look at the faces of these men 
to know that properly led they are the best fighting ma- 
terial possible. 

^ Royal Fusiliers. 



224 LETTERS OF 

Now for a curious thing! We had a concert the other 
evening. A commander (the Naval CO. of the entire 
naval base here, which is considerable) came to dinner. He 
spent seven years commanding the British cruiser in New- 
foundland. I have spent several nights in a log hut which 
he built in Main Brook, Hare Bay, for salmon fishing. He 
left his heart there. He has a house across the road from 
our camp. I go across in the evening and we get out his 
charts and spin yarns well into the morning. His poor wife, 
she hates me already! He even knows the same fishermen 
I know and worships Doctor Grenfell's work, although he 
scarcely knows him. He even has a rock marked in on his 
chart of The Labrador which I nearly hit once, as did he. 
He is the man who stopped the scheme for the "Open all 
the Winter, shortest route to America" scheme. His boy- 
ish delight in my being able to tell him that I had watched 
this same ice for months, and in my backing him up in say- 
ing that no boat ever will be built that can even look at it, 
was touching. 

I had a good look at Pembroke Dock and Pembroke yes- 
terday. Pembroke, Ont., is modelled directly on them and 
is an improvement! Never was anything so desolate! The 
best hotel is impossible. I will call on Mrs. Whalley this 
afternoon and see if she knows of any decent lodging place. 
I will let you know about this later. 

I had a nice note from Col. Allen and one from Maj. 
Curtis which I enclose. . . . 



3rd Batt., The King's Regt. 

Nov. 2$th, 1916. 

Nothing new here as to going to France. I suppose 

that one day when I am least expecting it, I will get my 

orders (with a few days' leave) to go. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 225 

Had a long talk with three of 4th Batt. men the other 
evening. They all worship Allen. . . . 

I had another evening with Commdr. Pearson. Great 
fun it was too. 

Major Whalley, not a bit of a natural pessimist, says 
the war will last at least two years more! 

He defines a V.C. as a decoration for an act which if un- 
successful would require a court-martial. Rich, isn't it? 
He is very curious; he is perfectly aware of the fact that 
I am an American, but doesn't officially admit it. 

We have two Jews here that the men call Potash & Perl- 
mutter. 

We have a "hard guy" Sergeant named Murphy here. 
The other day I overheard the following to a class of 
recruits, doing very badly: 

"Boys, you mind when I had me photo tuk the other 
day. Well, I sent it to me Mither; she wrote me back say- 
ing, 'Tim, ye're looking all washed out, them recruits will 
be the death of you, yet.'" 

Between ourselves you can just about thank Commdr. 
Pearson and this place for the safety of Falmouth and 
the Irish Sea from submarines, I fancy. We have all the 
paraphernalia for U-boat hunting here, including a huge 
R.N.A.S. Aerodrome. . . . 



3ri Batt., The King's Regt. 
Monday, Nov. 27, 1916. 

I WAS told yesterday unofficially, by the Assistant Adju- 
tant, that I had been selected for France. If this is so 
(Major Whalley doesn't think it is) I may be warned any 
day now. As soon as this happens I apply for leave and 
would be in town within twelve hours or so. But the whole 
thing is pretty much guesswork. Still I think you had 



226 LETTERS OF 

better stand by in town till I can find out something 
definite. . . . 

The work here is so light that I have taken to doing 
Physical Training and Bayonet Fighting with the men sim- 
ply to keep fit. 

Davis, a chap I knew in Oxford, is here with the Shrops. 
Had dinner with their mess last night. They certainly 
don't know how to do things as well as we do them. There 
is a lot of difference in that way between Old and New 
Army. If you dared to call this lot New Army you would 
get your head taken off. I don't see why it isn't New 
Army, but apparently it isn't. 

Love, 

Cap. 

This rumor proved to be true. He went up to London on 
a seven-day leave. On his trip up from Pembroke Dock he 
characteristically lost his entire kit. That left him with 
two razors and a revolver, "better equipped," as he said, 
"for a nigger brawl in Bucktown than for a world war." 
Of course his kit turned up at the last minute, without his 
having done anything to get it. He was busy seeing Father, 
Mother and many friends, having good-bye parties at the 
Cavendish Hotel, and going to Hinchingbrooke to see his 
cousins there before going out to France. 

Father and Mother went to Folkestone to see him off. 
His gratitude to them for not giving themselves the emo- 
tional luxury of a dramatic farewell he expressed in his first 
letter from France. He himself, after the War, added most 
of the footnotes to the letters that follow. These notes are 
indicated by asterisks. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 227 

Dec. 10, 1916. 
Dear Mother, 

I GOT here yesterday and found Wynne ^ here, and we are 
now sharing the same tent, but he has just received orders 
to move on early tomorrow morning. I am afraid we shall 
be separated, but there is still a chance. Wish I could tell 
you of all the interesting things about here, but of course 
I can't. Literally things are perfectly done, as near as I can 
see. 

I haven't seen David,^ nor can I find out where he is, 
but every instant of my time is filled up with work and 
I shall probably only be here a short time. 

1 can't tell you how much I appreciate the sporting spirit 
with which you and Father saw me off. I shall try to show 
my appreciation of it by writing often. 

My address for the time being is 24th Infantry Brigade 
Depot, B.E.F., France; just put King's (Liverpool) with- 
out the Battln. . . . 

Caspar. 

Dec. 12, 1916. 

I AM going away from here for several days on a job, but 
shall be returning. It ought to be rather an interesting ' 
job, as it will take me to a part I have always wanted to see. 
Things look brighter for the 4th I think, but nothing is 
certain. 

Am afraid I have lost Wynne for good. 

Lots of love, 

Caspar. 

*^ Arnold Wynne, 2nd lieutenant, King's. Killed in Arras show. 

2 Captain David Margesson, M.C., lith Hussars, writes: "I always felt Cas- 
par's going to the War was one of the finest and bravest acts I knew of. It put to 
shame a good many people in this country who considered themselves good 
Englishmen. It was a glorious thing to do." 

*' Took a draft of men to Ypres salient. 



228 LETTERS OF 

Dec. 20th. 

I AM here with the 4th Eatt. I fought a winning fight, 
and so here I am. I also managed to get put in the same 
company with Campbell/ and we sit next to each other at 
mess and sleep next to each other. Great luck, isn't it? I 
have had a most interesting time and am now really in the 
thick of it all, or will be soon ! 

It seems a delightful lot of officers and the men are the 
right sort to my way of thinking. 

You might send a parcel of food along and about two 
hundred cigarettes a week. I find the food very good, but 
as everybody insists on your eating their food it more or 
less behooves you to have some of your own. 

I have never dreamed of such mud, but it is freezing 
now I am glad to say. 

Dec. 21, 1916. 
Dear Mon, 

Wet again today. The mud is as bad as Newfoundland 
in May, but the terrible churning up this country has had 
makes it worse. 

Tell Helen ^ that Campbell is more British than I ever 
dreamed he could be. I fancy he has done extremely well. 

I enjoy seeing a lot of the French again. They are still 
going strong. 

Where we are we are out of reach of anything decent, 
but ten days ago I was in a partly shattered town a long 
way from here. I admired again the French woman. She 
is marvellous. I dined in a cafe, the roof of which resem- 
bled a sieve. I had a perfect dinner. Madame was every- 

*i Campbell Robertson Fraser, lieutenant, 4th King's. A Scotch friend who 
had lived many years in Texas. Killed at Meteren, April 16, 1918. 

* Mrs. Campbell R. Fraser, his American wife, who became an intimate friend 
of Caspar's. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 229 

where looking tres chic. Monsieur, who was a wash-out, 
did nothing; but when you paid your bill Monsieur was 
sent for to receive the money. By George, if I ever marry I 
think it will be a French woman. 

Give my love to Alberta.* Tomorrow is her birthday, 
I think. 

A letter written on December 26th, describing his first 
Christmas in the trenches, was lost. To replace this he 
wrote the following account for Mother's War Scrapbook: 

We left Susanne about 10 a.m., and were put in motor 
lorries and carried just behind the hill at Maurepas. We 
"disembarked" there and marched through Maurepas 
about a mile and as it was still light we halted there. I had 
heard a great deal about destruction of villages on the 
Somme, but I would never have believed it possible. There 
literally isn't a brick standing in Maurepas, in fact the 
only thing which could indicate that it had ever been a 
town was the wheels of what was evidently a baby-car- 
riage. As we were halted the Boche artillery was fairly ac- 
tive over Combles, about a mile ahead of us. As it grew 
dusk we marched on through Combles and eventually up 
near Rancourt. Our guides met us and led us up to our 
positions. It is pretty hard to judge distances on a place 
like this, but I should think that from where we left the road 
to our Coy. Headquarters was not over two miles. Yet it 
took us about four hours to do it. I never have conceived 
of such mud. When we got to our Coy. Headquarters we 
found a very good deep French dug-out. The short trench 
above it was almost knee deep in mud. Campbell went 

* This means, in Caspar's code, Going up to front line tomorrow. 



230 LETTERS OF 

off" at once with his platoon to occupy an isolated position 
about two hundred yards on the right flank and about two 
hundred yards in front of Coy. H.Q., and Lashmar took his 
platoon to another isolated position about two hundred 
yards directly in front of us. Both of these positions were 
nothing but shell holes connected up. Things were very 
quiet that night except that we were on the left flank of 
our division and had lost touch with the division on our 
left. We had heard that the 2nd Rifle Brigade had been 
forced to evacuate their first position, but it had not been 
confirmed and I was sent out with Pte. Machin to try and 
get in touch with them. We floundered about, going by my 
compass which I had set on a very problematical bearing. 
It was most confusing, as we were tempted to follow along 
old water-logged communication trenches, but after all a 
compass doesn't lie and by jumping over these trenches we 
finally ran into the Rifle Brigade trying to clear out and 
make defensible a trench only a few yards behind the one 
they had abandoned. I, of course, reversed my compass 
and started back, but we went a bit wrong and floundered 
about in the mud for some time, almost lost, before we 
stumbled on our trench. 

The next day was very quiet except that the Hun con- 
stantly shelled the ruins of Rancourt, where as a matter of 
fact we had nothing; but then, as Campbell says, if we had 
the sense which the Germans apparently credit us with 
having, that's where we would be instead of in these mud 
holes. Bangham sent me over after it was dark with my 
platoon to relieve Campbell, as it was considered that 
Campbell's position was the muddiest one of the lot. 
Campbell went back to the dug-out to have some food 
and expected to come back and relieve me, but Bangham 
wouldn't let him. He turned up about i a.m., and was very 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 231 

angry and equally amusing, to give me advice and instruc- 
tions about holding this position. It wasn't at all a danger- 
ous position, but it certainly was uncomfortable. The mud 
was so bad that the only weapon in working order was the 
Mills bomb. We got a bit of shelling about daybreak and 
again about noon, but it was fairly obvious that the Boche 
didn't know where we were. 

About 9 P.M. I got a chit by an orderly saying that I was 
to put up the barrage signal, simply as practice for the ar- 
tillery, sometime between 10 and 11, and was to report on 
the elapsed time and the effectiveness of the barrage. 

The artillery reply came in a few seconds over a minute 
and it seemed to me that it was perfect. I wonder what 
the Hun thought we were up to? 

At about I A.M. we were relieved by a platoon of B 
Coy. Certainly a most peculiar Christmas Eve. We had 
a beastly time getting back to the support trenches, where 
we arrived at near 5 a.m. Christmas morning. We found a 
very deep and dry but small dug-out, on the chalk walls 
of which was written: 

"Do You Know Dolly?" 

As there wasn't enough room in the dug-out Campbell and 
I found a little hole in the chalk underneath, where some 
of our men were sleeping, and we curled up and slept like 
tops.^ We got up about 11 o'clock Christmas morning and 
made a determined effort to try and get the rifles and Lewis 
guns clean, but didn't have much luck. Incidentally the 

' Pte. H. Astin, his military servant, out since Mons and wounded three 
times, writes after Caspar's death, of this night: "I can remember so plainly the 
first time he went in the trenches on the Somme, just on the right of Combles. 
The conditions were very bad at the time because it was December, but he was 
cheerful all the time and we slept alongside each other in a very small shelter 
in the trench. The men soon got to like him then because he was always one of 
themselves." 



232 LETTERS OF 

Sergeant-Major got hit by a nose-cap which must have 
been almost spent. 

About this time our batteries really cut loose and gave 
the Hun a pretty bad dressing down. We were relieved by 
the 2nd Argylls about lo o'clock at night. They were 
grousing terrifically over the fact that they had no rum ra- 
tion and were very amusing. We marched back to Maure- 
pas and got fixed up very comfortably, in fact we had a 
plum pudding and really had a very jolly Christmas dinner. 

It was daylight of the 26th. We weren't, of course, in at 
all a dangerous position, but I must say I really enjoyed it. 
This is most inconsistent and is a tendency to be guarded 
against. The Prussian doctrine of war being a glorious 
thing is like many other doctrines, it has just enough truth 
in it to make it doubly dangerous. 

From a letter from Lieut. Campbell R. Eraser to his 
wife: 

I had arranged with the Captain that when my platoon 
was relieved that night, I would carry on with the other 
platoon for the next twenty- four hours; the reason was that 
Caspar's platoon was coming in and it wasn't fair to give 
him a front line job in an isolated position in his first tour 
in trenches. But much to my annoyance about 8 p.m., I 
heard some one calling my name at the other end of the 
trench, and here was Caspar with a guide come up from 
the supports line. The orders were that I was to go back 
to supports for a hot meal, and that later I was to take up 
his platoon and then go back with my own. I felt rather 
sick over it, because the plug back to supports, which I 
had to do three times in all, wasn't worth the price of ad- 
mission, and then I knew the line, and he hadn't seen it. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 233 

So I plugged back to see if I could change the order, but 
couldn't, and after all, the trench was safe as a church, only 
I should have liked to have been there along with Caspar. 
He is a most game little sport, and we are all very fond 
of him here. He made an instantly good impression. An 
American who volunteers for trenches rather appeals to 
these fellows, especially the professional soldiers. . . . 

Dec. 27, 1916. 
Dear Mother, 

We are well back now for some rest and everybody seems 
bucked up. 

I have just read Wilson's note. I don't think I was ever 
so disgusted! 

Could you send me a pair of leather gloves with a warm 
lining? My others went West. Also send me about one 
dozen pairs of socks and two dozen handkerchiefs. The 
only way to keep from getting bad feet is to keep changing 
and I find that the fact that I have had practically all my 
toes frozen before is going to be a source of trouble. As for 
boots, I don't see that anything between slippers and a 
diver's suit is any good. However, if your feet are O.K. 
you are very comfortable. 

It seems a terrible thing to say, but I rather enjoyed 
this last affair. Certainly "cunning" was never at a higher 
premium. 

Love to France.* 

Jan. I, 1917. 

Dear Father, 

Many Happy Returns! I haven't been able to write for 
several days, but am now way back of the line. Our lot are 

* His cousin, Mrs. David Margesson. This phrase is Caspar's code for out of 
front line. 



_J 



234 LETTERS OF 

resting, but I have been sent off with a fatigue party to do 
a lot of boring and bucolic labor. It is a bore, but I don't 
see how it can be helped and besides it won't last over two 
weeks. 

We are near a town where the most perfect cathedral in 
the world is. I enjoyed seeing it again. ... I ran into most 
of the Escadrille Americaine of the French Flying Corps, 
but didn't see Cowdin or Rumsey. They are a great lot. 
I also met an old friend who used to be a bartender in the 
Lenox Hotel, Boston, and is now plying his trade in . 

Everybody is hoping that our Division will be moved to 
some other part of the line, but it is only a hope. 

I haven't heard from you yet and am not giving you my 
present address, because I shall be leaving here probably 
before you could reach me, and then I never would get the 
letters. 

I have a perfect gem for a servant. He is a dyed-in-the- 
wool crook, but we get on beautifully. He beats the gun 
every time when it comes to getting me the best of every- 
thing. Never does he go out that he doesn't return with an 
egg, a spare strap, a canvas bucket or something. Where 
he gets them I don't know, for he has the strongest princi- 
ples about parting with coin to French people. In fact he 
positively refuses. He is now washing all my things him- 
self, as he simply would not take them to any of the French 
people near here. He is also a good cook, and to see him 
collect heaps of firewood from a place where there isn't a 
house left standing is a sight for the gods. 

I will try to write every day now. 

January gth, 1917. 

Dear Mother, 

I HAVE been in a Casualty Clearing Station for a week, 
but get out tomorrow well. A lot of my men have gone sick 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 235 

with dysentery, and I have every reason to suppose I had 
it. The men have all gone to the Base and possibly Eng- 
land, but I persuaded them to keep me here, and now the 
tests have been made and I am O.K. I join my Battalion 
tomorrow. I am so glad I worked it as I did. I am still a 
little weak, as they starve you, but will be top hole in a few 
days. I have no doubt that the men " swing the lead " a bit. 

I got my letters yesterday and don't think I ever en- 
joyed letters so much. Somebody has got the parcels, who 
I don't know. Possibly our own Mess is enjoying them 
now. 

Tell Father I like Balkan cigarettes, the kind they have 
at the Cavendish. It seems good to get in a bed again even 
in a tent. I can tell you I am feeling pretty happy, for I 
really had wind up. 

I had several notes from Alberta, but I really can't read 
a word of them. Also a lovely letter from Ruth and one 
from Judith. 

Went to the movies the other day. They had a Western 
picture — Indians attacking wagons, etc. In the midst of 
the attack when the settlers were getting licked, my servant 
just behind me shouted out, "Where in bloody hell is them 
Lewis gunners?" He is a gem. In the last trenches we 
were in, there really wasn't much trench at all and water 
knee high, he said, "Well, Sir, there's one good thing about 
these trenches, we'll never see a brass hat ^ here." I don't 
know how I will ever live without him. Instead of putting 
my things away he stands and looks at them and then both 
he and I know exactly where everything is. 

He never refers to stealing or pinching anything. He 
calls it "winning." "Think I'll just go and see if I can 
win some coal." 

*i Staff Officer. 



236 ■ LETTERS OF 

Tell Helen I think she really ought to know the worst. 
Campbell, on his own initiative, went to see the movies 
and stayed through them sitting on a very narrow board! 

France, Jan. gth, 1917. 
Dear Bessie,^ 

I JUST picked up a magazine and saw a thing by Amy 
Lowell about sand. Tell her to substitute mud for sand 
and it fits in here very well. 

We are out of the trenches for a few days: they say we 
are "resting." They lie. In fact we are so far back that 
we are in the "Parson, Trained Nurse Zone." 

What I am really writing you for is to tell you of my ter- 
rific and growing admiration for your Church. I saw a lot 
of both the French and Belgian priests, and where we are 
now we see much of the French. I have knocked about a bit 
and met some splendid types, but never anything to touch 
the R.C. priest in this War. Sometime I hope to tell you 
about them at length. In fact if I didn't believe that some 
of the doctrines of your Church are fundamentally untrue 
I would become a R.C. tomorrow. Your Church certainly 
works, but I hope I am less of a pragmatist every day and 
I won't accept anything because it seems to work. My 
great hope of this war is that pragmatism or whatever you 
call most modern thinking is getting absolutely shelled to 
bits. One thing isn't about as good as another and every- 
body here knows it. 

On top of all this to read Wilson's speeches about both 
sides fighting for the same thing is particularly exasperat- 
ing. For God's sake use all the influence you have to keep 
the U.S. from meddling in peace. We are really beating 
these blighters. They are putting in the most unpleasant 

* Mrs. Charles Bruen Perkins, of Boston. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 237 

winter they will ever experience — unless it is next win- 
ter. I certainly think their discipline is going to crack long 
before the fighting spirit and cheerfulness goes from us. 

Certainly the Boche doesn't show the slightest desire to 
fight on our little bit of front. All he asks is to be let alone 
and that we won't do. But he is as clever as ever and the 
conditions here at any rate are absolutely impossible, or 
so it seems to me. 

I never cease being astounded at the British race. Xmas 
night we were relieved. We were in a trench, the walls of 
which were very largely built of Hun dead, and not very 
freshly dead either, and yet our relief was delayed under 
shelling because the bottom of the trench had been un- 
tidy! I could only think of Sunday School picnics. But 
they really are rather old dears and they certainly have 
sticking power. 

My servant is a great joy to me. He is T.A. boiled down. 
His humor is a thing unequalled. I heard him say to a 
French girl yesterday, " I don't know much about making 
love in French (which is a lie), but give us a kiss for a 
starter." 

There is very little danger here now and I don't expect 
there will be any until we push again. 

I get terribly homesick at times. I notice that a few 
big ones coming over, and particularly those exceedingly 
horrid machine guns, tend to increase this feeling enor- 
mously. 

I do love the French bourgeoise woman. Talk about 
nurses, Red Cross women, etc. Why French women run 
restaurants and excellent ones too at great profit ten miles 
nearer the line than any of these much photographed la- 
dies in riding breeches ever get. When they get shelled out 
of one house they move to another. It is a pleasure to be 



238 LETTERS OF 

robbed by such clever women. I really believe they are 
clever enough for me to marry one of them. I believe a 
French bourgeoise could manage the life out of me without 
my knowing that I was being managed at all. Of course 
they are not interested in Suffrage, etc. They absolutely 
rule France and everything they come in contact with 
already. They are absolutely sound, absolutely practical 
(more so than anything on Beacon Hill), and absolutely 
fascinating. 

Give my love to all the Perkins family. How I should 
love to see you again! 

If anybody tells you I am in this show for fun, adventure, 
etc., make a note of his or her name. I want to have a word 
with them "apres la guerre est finie." 

Mother seems in splendid health and Father like a dif- 
ferent man since he landed. 

Caspar. 

Jan. lyth, 191 7. 
Dear Mother, 

I HAVE been back with the Battalion several days now 
and am absolutely O.K. It took me a bit longer to get fit 
than I thought it would. 

I found three parcels of cigarettes, one of food, a lot of 
glorious socks, etc., and some toilet things, also lots of let- 
ters which I loved getting. Also a splendid torch. I left my 

Sam Browne belt in a public bath at on my way here 

and I fear it has gone West. Astin, my servant, I am sure 
could "win" me one, but I have forbidden him to do so. 
I never wear one here, so will wait till I get leave, as I will 
have to have one then. 

We move tomorrow, and I have got a temporary job 
which will give me a two days' horseback ride ahead of the 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 239 

Battalion.^ Ought to be good fun and will put the finishing 
touches on getting me fit. . . . 

This is a terribly dull letter, but spending two weeks in a 
W.C. doesn't tend to make you sparkling. 

I think the post in these parts isn't as good as it might 
be, as all the men are complaining of parcels going West. 

I shall be glad to get down to work again. 

Give my love to Alberta,^ I think, if I remember, next 
Tuesday is her birthday. 

Lots of love. 

Cap. 

Jan. 21, 191 7. 

Finished my job and am with the Battalion again mark- 
ing time for a day or so. Glad you saw Campbell. . . . 

News! I find that the chance of getting three days in 
Paris after we come out of the trenches are excellent. Some- 
time from about the loth to 20th of February most likely. 
Have a look about and see if you can get to Paris. Plan to 
go there and then if I can turn up, splendid, if not you 
ought to enjoy it at any rate. 

I am absolutely fit, and love getting news. Will write 
you again tomorrow. Snow on the ground and frozen! I 
feel like an old circus horse smelling the tanbark. It is 
splendid, no mud. Saw the most marvellous flying today I 
have ever dreamt of. A famous French and a British Air- 
man were showing off. . . . 

Jan. 29, 1917. 
Campbell came in yesterday afternoon. Also seven 
parcels arrived. I think this accounts for the lot. Where 

* ' Temporary charge of ist Line Transport of Battalion. 
' Code for Going into line Tuesday. 



240 LETTERS OF 

they have been I don't know. I have a fine job, only tem- 
porary, of course, but still! I am acting Transport Officer 
and am living behind the line in a splendid dug-out built 
by the Boche, and believe me the German officer who had 
this built believed in Safety First. I have about six hours' 
hard work a day and that is all. But the responsibility I 
find wearing. Finding your way for several miles with 
nothing to guide you but dead mules is not all it's cracked 
up to be. I am not in the trenches and anything back of the 
line is better than in it. . . . 

I didn't look for this job. They found out that I knew 
something about horses, and — here I am. To show you 
how safe it is, our Transport Officer has been here twenty 
months and has never been hit. In fact he is the only 
officer left of the original Battalion. 

My servant is having the time of his life. There are 
dozens of dug-outs which have been vacated near here, and 
he goes "souveniring" every few minutes. He has a huge 
pile of relics, and has already given me a pair of spurs, a 
crop, a flask, a compass and a watch! I hope he hasn't 
been gravedigging, but I have my doubts. . . . 

February /^th, 1917. 

I haven't been able to write for some time, but will be 
able to do so now. Paris leave looks years away now. In 
fact I have got over thinking about it, but you never can 
tell. Campbell has gone away on a course; it came at a 
lucky time for him. 

By all means send a S. B. belt if you care to. I haven't 
needed one, but could have used one once or twice. Don't 
get a thick, heavy or a "yaller" one. 

Somehow or other I am so heart and soul in my job that 
I can't seem to get up any interest over politics, etc. I 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 241 

haven't seen a paper for ten days, but would rather enjoy 
one now and then, also a book or so, not about the war. 
Don't send an avalanche of papers and books, as I can't 
stow them away. 

I am hoping I get my leave to England before leave 
closes, as I suppose it will do. 

I have noticed an interesting fact. Ask any Jock how far 

a place is and he will say kilos. Ask a Tommy and it 

is always miles. Here is another true Scotch story. During 

the last push we were relieving the Highlanders. 

Our Coy. Commander said to the Scotch guide who was 
conducting the relief, "What sort of a time have you been 

having, Jock ? " A pause, then, " Our relations wie yon 

have been verra strained. Sir." A long pause, then, "There's 
only me and twa privates o' the platoon left, Sir." 

Here is a definition. "Cavalry" — A fairly large and 
very smart body of men maintained in the more fashionable 
parts of France at considerable expense to add color to an 
otherwise drab army. They still live in the delusion that a 
mounted man armed with a fishing rod and knife can 
fight a Boche in a shell hole with a machine gun. 

Astin disappeared yesterday for the day without leave. 
At dusk he returned with four Mallard duck!! He has 
built a sort of system of wire nets, oats, etc., and it seems 
to work. 

Still cold and it makes me feel like a king. 

Don't get blue. The primary duty of everybody who 
wants to win this war is to be optimistic about life in 
general and the War in particular. 

Feh. 6th, 1917. 
I FEEL as if I must get more news about America or 
" bust." I don't think I ever was so excited in my life. I am 



242 LETTERS OF 

so happy I can't keep still. What is America going to do? 
Send me anything about the situation. 

Is Wilson going to ask for Americans who are now 
serving with the Allies? For of course they can do noth- 
ing themselves. Tell Walter ^ to write me his views at 
once. I can't seem to get any perspective on the situation 
here. 

Fritz seems annoyed! At least he gave me a pretty hot 
time last night. 

Feh. loth, 1917. 

I can't make out yet what America has done or is going 
to do. I expect we shall have to "wait and see"! In the 
meantime there is nothing to do but "smile at yourself and 
carry on." There seems to be a curious feeling going about 
that the War is nearly over. What it is based on I don't in 
the least know. It certainly does not sound or look here as 
if it was anywhere nearly over. 

A Lewis gunner came to me the other day to see if I 
would cash an American Express order for seven francs. 
Such a fine lad, comes from Somerville, Boston, and has 
been here seven months. There are, I am sure, thousands 
in the ranks. God bless and spare them. 

Here is a typical Scotism. Last night in the dark a 
Lance Corporal of the and Highlanders came 

^ Walter G. Oakman, Jr., Harvard, '07. September-December, 1914, Norton- 
Harjes Ambulance Corps, with 2nd French Army. December, 1914, Royal Navy 
Volunteer Reserve, British Army, Armored Car Division. Resigned as sub- 
lieutenant October, 1915. October 25, 1915, lieutenant, Coldstream Guards. 
Wounded three times. Distinctions: Distinguished Service Order. Mentioned 
in dispatches. At the time of Caspar's death he wrote: "I know, of course, that 
he would put up a gallant fight to the end, — being Caspar he couldn't do other- 
wise. And I know he has gone on to whatever the next stage may be with the 
same good heart with which he went into the War. There were not so many of us 
who were together early in the War that we can lose one without missing him, 
and among us there was certainly no stouter or braver man than Cap." 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 243 

up to me and said, "Could you tak a mon back to in 

a limber?" Then a long pause. "The mon's deid." ^ 

Whether my present job is permanent or not I don't 
know, but I don't think I have made many blunders yet 
and am kept pretty busy. I like it because it is both hard 
and exciting work while it lasts and then it is finished with. 
Moreover, it is work which requires "cunning." Then I 
think what I know about horses helps. Moreover, it is 
much safer in that when the push comes we don't go over 
the top; in fact it is a safer job all round. I didn't go look- 
ing for the job; it was offered me and I think I should be 
Quixotic if I hadn't accepted. 

Our transport is known throughout this Division as the 
"God's Own." Its luck has been absolutely phenomenal. 
But Captain Boumphrey deserves most of the credit. He 
is one of the craftiest men I have met and he has put me on 
to some very sound tips. He is really Brigade Transport 
Officer now and thank God looks after all the red-tape, 
etc. He simply tells me where to go and what to deliver 
and I do it. 

Monday, Feb. ii, 1917. 

What does all the American thing mean ? Have you any 
inside information? 

Here is a puzzle competition. I am staying at a place 
whose name describes the weather.^ Guess it and get three 
green coupons. We hope to go back for a rest soon. I am 
afraid there will be no Paris leave for me, as my English 
leave will be due about the time we get really back for a 
long rest. 

* ^ A man who had died In the front line from unknown causes on which an 
autopsy was to be performed. ("A man — which" reveals Caspar's idea of a 
corpse. Editor.) 

* 2 Frise. 



244 LETTERS OF 

This will make you laugh. I find I take a great pleasure 
in having such a splendid kit. I am even getting a little 
fussy about things. 

It is very expensive messing here. Captain Boumphrey 
has lots of money, is of a hospitable disposition and we al- 
ways have guests for meals. During most of the day men are 
dropping in for a drink. It all adds up, but we do live well. 

One thing I like about the King's is that the men are in- 
telligent. They have the intelligence of the newspaper boy, 
the barkeeper or the barber. They are in marked contrast 
to a splendid county Battalion with whom we are brigaded. 
Those chaps "compris" absolutely nil except just what is 
their own business. 

A Lance Corporal in my Platoon was badly wounded. 
His name was Lopez and he claimed to be a South American, 
but if ever I saw a yaller nigger from the U.S.A. he was one. 
I had great confidence in him. Yesterday noon I went to 
inspect the mules and horses. I was a bit late, as I had 
been up all night. This is what I found. The Huns left 
this place in such a hurry that they left in a dug-out about 
twenty typical German trombones, horns, etc., now of 
course absolutely spoiled. Nevertheless my men were stand- 
ing in a circle imitating a German band playing the Ger- 
man Hymn of Hate which they were humming. In the 
centre was a hard guy named Riley wearing a Boche helmet 
and standing on some ammunition boxes conducting. They 
had a large audience and a chap named Gabriel was going 
about to imaginary houses holding up a huge battered horn 
and soliciting contributions. He eventually came to a crowd 

of about fifty Highlanders and was just about to 

solicit when Riley, with an oath, stopped the band sharp 

with "Gabriel, you bloody fool! A fine bloody 

collector you make! Wasting yer time on 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 245 

bloody Scotchmen. Don't you know sure that 

there ain't no farthin's in French money?" 

This broke off the band and I appeared and found the 
horses filthy, particularly his pack mule, who is a lady, but 
goes by the name of Lousy. He curses that mule continually 
until things get a bit hot, then he starts calling her "Me 
dear," etc. He is a great lad and has won the D.C.M. 

Feb. I3ih, 1917. 

I can't remember what you said Bill Wendell was doing 
in Paris or what his address is. I would like to write him. 

Have found out that there are very few officers ahead of 
me for leave, so that I have hopes of getting it about the 
middle of March. 

Henry's ^ fame amused me, and to tell the truth made 
me quite what I suppose is homesick. At any rate, I know 
I did my work last night with my mind wandering in a curi- 
ous way. Before me seemed to pass like a kaleidoscope 
memories of all the good times I have had. This seemed 
to go on for hours ! Then I got rather morbid and got to 
thinking what a damnable mess I have really made of life; 
then I got to wondering what was going to be the end of 
it all after the war, for it never seems to occur to me that 
it may all end here. (I don't think it will.) At about this 
time external circumstances made me acutely conscious 
of the fact that there was a war on and I got my eye on 
the ball again. It's a weird old war. I don't want another, 
but I am really not having a bad time in my curious sort of 
way. Of course I am better off than I might be. 

The belt is getting licked into shape splendidly. Astin 
ticked me off for putting it on before he had polished it 
this morning. 

^ Henry Wilder, of Boston, had won some golf championship. 



246 LETTERS OF 

Will you get me a pair of spurs, some that are "almost 
too proud to fight" ? The Colonel, who can't ride for nuts, 
ticked me off for having none on this job. 
We ought to go back for a rest in a few days. 

Love, 

Cap. 

P.S. If I don't mention Father's boils, etc., it isn't be- 
cause I don't think of you, but it just isn't my way to do 
this sort of thing. 

Feb. 14, 1917. 

I haven't had a letter from you for about a week, but I 
suppose they will all come at once. 

There has been a Sub staying here for several days who 
has absolutely got my wind up. He is a perfect gentleman, 
well educated, I believe is, in a stupid way, brave; I am 
sure he is a splendid son; but he nearly drives me wild. He 
is the most hopelessly bored man I ever saw; he potters 
about his kit, nagging his poor servant, keeps talking about 
how the "blighters" need watching (meaning the ranks); 
he speaks at great length of the uncleanliness and filthy 
habits of the French, thinks that a mixture of blood is al- 
ways fatal, hence America's weakness, and all this in the 
kind of English voice which nearly drives me mad. Of 
course I have called him everything from a damn fool up, 
but it isn't much of a relief cursing out this kind. I will say 
that nobody here likes him. 

All leave is closed, but I suspect only for a short time. 

Found out yesterday that one of my mule drivers is a 
barber and had a much-needed hair cut. I must say he is a 
better mule driver than barber, but he honed my razors 
very well. A nice chap he is; he tells me he taught his trade 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 247 

to his wife and she is keeping his shop open. He also does 
a bit of tattooing as a side line. 

I also had the Sergeant Bootmaker sole and nail my field 
boots which are a great joy to me. 

Had a holiday last night. Captain Boumphrey went up 
the line to see the CO. 

Today is the most perfect day I have ever seen and the 
R.F.C. are everywhere, as are the Boche aeroplanes. I 
have been watching what the papers call "aerial activity" 
with my excellent glasses until my neck is stiff. It is the 
one side of this war which is really thrilling and dramatic. 
No wonder men are so keen to get in it. 

I am interested in censoring letters to find so many refer- 
ences such as, "Well, I hear old Bill has been finally combed 
out, the " 

"Hope this finds you in the pink as it finds me." 

Cap. 

I have made several bets that America will declare war 
by March ist. This paper is tres bon. The only envelopes 
I have seen which don't get stuck together. Send more in a 
week or so. . . . 

Feh. iSth, 1917. 

Two letters from you and a parcel from F& M last night. 
Tell Father the cigarettes arrive O.K. and are splendid, 
just about the right number per week. 

So glad John and Daisy ^ were with you. You must have 
enjoyed them. 

^ Mr. and Mrs. John R. Moreton Macdonald, of Largie Castle, Argyllshire, 
where Caspar had visited them during his Tommy days in Scotland. While Cas- 
par was still alive John wrote: "We shared your anxieties during the war, when 
Caspar was at the front, and we share them now, however far away we may be. 
It can only be left in God's hands : if he goes, we know he was willing to make the 
sacrifice and that you were willing he should make it; and if he stays, even to a 



248 LETTERS OF 

I don't think for a minute Germany will sink these 
"test" ships. Why should she ? They knowwhat they are 
sinking and it wouldn't be worth their while. In fact I am 
pessimistic about the whole situation, but I can't do any- 
thing about it, so I am not going to allow myself to worry. 
We can only hope and pray for the best to happen. 

I have never in my life seen such gorgeous weather. It 
makes me feel like a fighting cock. Apparently it has the 
same effect on everybody, for things are bucking up a lot. 

We are probably coming out tomorrow for just a few 
days' rest, but one never knows. 

life of modified activity, which is what you fear, I gather, Caspar will have the 
courage and the wit to make a job even of the most unlikely kind of life." 

On hearing of Caspar's death he wrote on Good Friday: "Spence will have 
helped you: — and Caspar himself. I can imagine what a gallant fight he made, 
and how cheerfully he would greet the unknown. He was a splendid fellow: — 
true to what was best in himself. He made the cause his own, and not for the 
love of fighting or even for the love of adventure so much as for the cause itself. 
There is a certain fitness, then, that he should have given his life for it — he was 
ready to from the start. . . . We shall never forget Caspar — God rest him, as I 
am sure he does; and more than that, I am sure his spirit is finding openings un- 
dreamt of here. He was in our Maundy Thursday Mass: and the Archbishop's 
Good Friday addresses today brought our minds to him again; when he dealt 
with the whole passion as a revelation of Love, I prayed that you too might have 
the power to see the love in this cross of yours. We shall be with you again on 
Easter Day: I can imagine how this Holy Season is very specially real to you." 

In another letter: "It was good of you to write. It means such a lot to hear 
these details. He was a plucky fellow, a hero as you say, and he gave his life for 
the cause. I am thankful you have all these splendid memories of his last months 
and no bitterness. He always fascinated me, I don't know why; it was a kind of 
physical fascination; great vitality always has that effect on me. He was remem- 
bered by name at the altar here at Easter with all that long tale of brave young 
friends that the war has left us. I think we may all be thankful — I am sure you 
are — that he was not fated to linger on, a crock: though he would have made a 
wonderful job of it, I am sure." 

And in a letter to me he writes: " Caspar, you know, exercised a sort of fascina- 
tion over me. Itwas the whipcord quality about him that captivated me, I think. 
How well I remember all the incidents at the time he was wounded, and the visits 
I paid to him atGrosvenor Place. It was hard on you to get him back and then 
have to give him up again. He was a very definite hero: — a word one may use 
in private correspondence: and, if he had never done anything else, his service, 
and his gallantry and gaiety would have been a lifeful. One can't imagine that 
sort of spirit dead." 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 249 

I hear people in England seem to think the War is nearing 
an end, and that people generally seemed bucked up. Is this 
so? What has Leverton ^ to say about things in general.'' 

Send me Wilde's "Picture of Dorian Grey." I read part 
of it, then somebody won the book from me. There isn't 
much danger of my kit being too heavy as long as I hold 
this job!! 

Find out Oliver Filley's address for me, please. 

Just heard that we are having a very few days' rest. 

No leave is being given. By the time we really get back 
for a decent rest my leave should be due, but I don't for 
one minute suppose I will get it. 

I do like doing my work at night. The night always 
makes me feel keen and somehow or other I always feel as 
if I was just as good a man as the next fellow in the dark, 
and perhaps a little better. 

The Transport Officer of the Highlanders is a 

character. An old Army man, of excellent family, he ran 
through a fortune, got disinherited, was with the North 
West Mounted Police, was a remittance man, broke ponies 
in Wyoming and Arizona, made another small fortune 
which he has stuck to and is now married. Every time he 
sees me he shouts out, "How is Gawd's country this morn- 
ing?" We are great pals. I think he is one of the finest 
horsemen I have ever seen, and believe me, I never want to 
have that man point a revolver at me! He gave an exhibi- 
tion the other day. 

Wouldn't it be funny if Mrs. was the American who 

caused America to go to war. Seems rather a cattish 
thing to say! But with the exception of you and Father I 
would be glad to see any friend I have drowned if it would 
get America into the War. 

* Leverton Harris, M.P., Assistant Minister of Blockade. 



250 LETTERS OF 

Tell Walter I see his lot ^ walking about, but that I 
haven't ascended to the height of meeting any of them as 
yet. 

I made a terrible blunder the other day! I gave Astin 
the devil for not waking me up in time. He has been worth- 
less since! He does everything just wrong. I was a damn 
fool; he knew he had overslept and was sorry for it and if I 
had said nothing all would have gone well. He was, I be- 
lieve, a wonderful servant for a long time for a Captain 
Beck who was killed. The next three officers he had all 
fired him; they couldn't get him to do anything. I reckon 
it will take me a week of pretending that things are O.K. 
to get him around again. Just to rub it in he spent yester- 
day afternoon turning Captain Boumphrey's dug-out into 
a wind-proof, rat-proof affair, from the dreariest, windiest 
hole I have ever been in. He's whipped me and I know it, 
and he knows that I know it, and he knows that I know 
that he knows it. Well, I must be off. 

Good-night, 

Cap. 

Feb. lyth, 191 7. 

Dear Dad, 

I GOT your two letters yesterday. It looks as if you had 
"wind up." Of course I would rather be in an American 
Army than here, and I shouldn't in the least mind being in 
the ranks, as I think I could win my way up. But!!! (i.) 
It doesn't look at all sure to me that America will declare 
war on Germany. (2.) It doesn't seem likely that in case 
she does she will send an Expeditionary Force. (3.) In 
view of the promises I have made I personally would be 
unable to take a single step. Of course if the American 

*i The Cold Stream Guards. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 251 

Army formally asked for all the Americans who are here, I 
should go, and it would be the happiest moment of my life. 
Unless this is done I shall carry on here to the best of my 
ability. This is final and I am sure I am right. It isn't 
as if America was in danger or anything of the sort. As 
for wanting to go to "organize" a non-combatant army, 
hands up ! The one important matter is to whip the Boche, 
and until I am sure that the U.S.A. is going to take an ac- 
tive part in this job I shall stick on here doing my bit. 

We are back for a few days' rest. Went to hear the 
"Shrapnels," our Divisional Concert party, last night. It 
was very good. One song was — "Why do we build our 
trenches so near the Allemange?" 
Another was — 

"Send us back to the dear old Salient, ^ 
It's many miles from here. 
Send us back to dear old Poperinghe, 
There you get good beer (and your washing done). 
Send us where there ain't no High Wood 
And you get your tots of rum. 
Oh, we'll stick in the Salient as long as you like 
If you send us away from the Somme." 

I will write Oakman. 
Sorry you have had boils. 

Oh, send me two refills for my Orilux light, J. H. Stew- 
ard, 406 Strand. 

Feb. 18, 191 7. 

Just had a letter from Father saying you were laid up. 
Hope it doesn't amount to much. 

Went to Church Service this morning. I can't tell you 
how bad it all is. Out of two Battalions only three men 

^ Caspar added these proper names after the war. 



252 LETTERS OF 

stayed on to the Communion Service, which was voluntary. 
The Church has certainly missed out. 

Tell Father that I am sure I should enjoy Judge 

but I know the breed. "Watch your spoons." 

No time for more. 

Feb. igth, 1917. 

There has been no English mail for two days, a per- 
formance which is getting all too common. 

I devoured the Life of O. Henry in one evening. Not 
brilliant, but written by a man who was very painstaking 
about collecting facts. While we have produced O. Henry 
and Conrad we can't be called sterile as regards literature, 
by future generations. 

I don't think from your last letter you realize what we do 
in the transport. The A.S.C. Ammn. Column, R.E., etc., 
bring up food, water, fuel, cartridges, bombs, trench mor- 
tars, flares, tools, boards, wire hurdles, netting, nails, pick- 
ets, beams, logs; in short everything you can think of. All 
of these vast organizations behind the lines bring these 
things up, but they don't deliver them; that and that only 
is our job. In some places it is not at all difficult and in 
some places it is. How we are going to make out in a few 
days in the terrible mud we have now I don't know. But it 
is the record of our Battalion, that through the entire war 
rations have never failed to come up one single night. It is 
a fine record and one I shouldn't like to see spoiled. There 
are only five officers ahead of me for leave, but as there is 
no leave going it doesn't help much. 

Campbell is expected any day now. I have been training 
(?) all the stretcher bearers of the Battalion while we are 
at rest. I have given the Battalion Doctor a hand several 
nights when I was up with the rations and lately he has 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 253 

taken to sort of saving up cases that needed an anaesthetic 
till I got up. So I have let myself in for a bit more work. 
We don't have any R.A.M.C. men with us, our own men 
do all the stretcher bearing. 
Just going to play some bridge. 

Feb. 22nd, 191 7. 

Again no English post. Getting a bit thick, isn't it? 

There are lots of rumors about our being moved away 
from this part of the line way off from here. Personally I 
think they are well founded, but they are only rumors. Of 
course the optimists are happy and the pessimists are say- 
ing — Well, you can guess what they would be saying. 

Astin has been really ill with a fever for two days, but 
showed his pluck and stuck it like a man and is O.K. again. 
He has come around to his old form. I really had wind up 
for fear he might go "down the line," as there is nothing in 
the way of a hospital or even a casualty clearing station 
near here. 

The Battalion is moving tomorrow, but I am with the 
Transport again. As long as we are overstocked with offi- 
cers as we are now, I haven't any choice in the matter. If 
we get into the push I think you will see me back, or if we 
get into another part of the line where transport is a cinch 
I will probably go back. 

I think you probably picture this routine trench warfare 
as a far more dangerous thing than it is. Why it isn't more 
dangerous I don't know, but it is a fact that it isn't really 
dangerous. What you can't possibly imagine is the mud. 
Get on the highest hill you can find and for miles in any di- 
rection you can see nothing but mud, mud, mud. Mind 
you, this only applies to places like this, every yard of 
which has been fought over. I really think Dante is the 



254 LETTERS OF 

only person who ever lived who could ever have painted 

it. As T. A. says, " This is a fine country we are 

fighting for." 

We all have new anti-gas appliances. They are fine. I 
confess the old ones got "wind up" with me, as I always 
thought I was suffocating in them. The new kind I would 
just as leave wear all day. 

Played bridge again today with Boumphrey, the Doctor 
and the Adjutant, and I had a splendid game. 

Cold tongue, pressed meats, sausages seem about the 
best things to send. 

Feh. 24, 1917. 

Back doing business at the same old stand! But what a 
change from before! The mud in this particular spot is be- 
yond belief, but we are very comfortable! 

I must have been a pretty sight last night coming back 
from the trenches. The following was my costume — rub- 
ber boots to the hip (all the troops are wearing them now). 
These were held up by my old belt in which was slung my 
revolver (used for the unwarlike purpose of despatching 
wounded mules) and my electric torch. Farther aloft I 
wore a Tommy's fur jerkin inside out and above that my 
tin hat. Cover the whole, including face, with a layer of 
mud one-eighth to one inch thick and you can get a picture 
of what I looked like at 4 a.m. this morning. 

Never again ! Tonight I am wearing low shoes. Tommy's 
trousers and tunic, with nothing under them. Wet is just 
like cold or heat. If you try to avoid it you are lost. If you 
make up your mind not to fight it or think about it you get 
on quite well. 

My God, it is heartrending to see troops coming out of 
the front line after a few days in a place like this. How the 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 255 

men stick it I don't know! Don't ever let anybody tell you 
an officer has to go through anything in comparison. In 
short, whether we get into the push or not we should all be 
glad to get clear of this part of the line. 

I don't think I told you that Reddick, the boy I was bil- 
leted with in Cranham Street,^ came to see me at . He 

has a job in the Field Baths. Nice lad, I am glad he is out 
of it all. 

There hasn't been any English mail for seven days now, 
and it is getting on everybody's nerves. I suppose I will 
get a batch of stuff when it does turn up. 

Everybody has got over talking about America now. It 
looks as if I shall lose my bet. Never again will I back a 
school-teaching, tee-totalling Presbyterian ! 

Yesterday morning two of D. Coy.'s officers went sick. 
I volunteered to Captain Bangham to go into the line with 
the Coy. He went to the Colonel, told him I had volun- 
teered and formally applied for my return to D. Coy. The 
CO. turned him down. It looks as though I need have no 
qualms of conscience about holding down a cushy job!! I 
must say that, in a childish manner, I was flattered that 
Captain Bangham told him I was " too good a man to be 
wasted on the Transport." Of course the CO. curses me 
out almost every night, but I am on to him now. I stand 
up for myself and don't cringe. I find that he tries to ter- 
rorize everybody, and has no use for anybody that is ter- 
rorized. 

Sunday, Feb. 25, 1917. 

Just a line before I go out. Am too busy for more. Been 
on the jump all day. Here is the best trick Astin has pulled 
off yet. He was getting me up this morning when he told 

* ^ When billeted in Oxford as a private in the Royal Fusiliers. 



wn #wiuiiiaM ^limii 



2S6 LETTERS OF 

me to look out of the window. I saw a Jock sergeant car- 
rying off a log of wood from in front of the servants' dug- 
outs. I was going to stop him, but Astin told me not to. I 
forgot all about it. About two hours later Astin asked me if 
I would come with him a few steps. I there saw the same 
Jock just finishing chopping up the same log, whereupon I 
went up and told him I had seen him steal the log and made 
him bring it all back nicely chopped into kindling wood! 
When I spoke to Astin about it his only comment was, 
"Well, Sir, I didn't come over with the last draft." 

We have just heard startlingly good news from a bit 
along the line. You will have heard it before this reaches 
you. 

D. Coy.'s Sergeant-Major was killed last night. I was 
only a few yards off at the time. A fine chap; the second 
Sergeant-Major, D. Coy., has lost since I have been here. 
Too bad; he had been out since almost the beginning. It 
was only a small grenade, but it caught him square. 

Got a letter today and spurs. Thanks. 

Wrote Bill Wendell and letter was returned. I wonder if 
Mildred Bliss ^ would know? 

Feb. 26th, 191 7. 

I JUDGE there is a parcel and also a package of cigarettes 
on the way, but the post is so bad here at present that I 
suppose they may turn up any time in the next two weeks. 
... I am expecting Campbell any day now. 

To tell you the truth I don't write much about the peo- 
ple I am with because I am not greatly interested. I like 
and admire most of them and hit it off very well. I made 

' Mrs. Robert Bliss, wife of the First Secretary of the American Embassy 
in Paris. She writes: " Truly Caspar was a soldier to be proud of, and from the 
day he enlisted until he carried his colors over the highest top of all he is one 
of the Americans one is gladdest to have claimed as a friend." 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 257 

the discovery years ago that a real "pukka" Englishman 
(not the cosmopolitan type) never really cares for a for- 
eigner, so I play the "Arthur Ditman game" ^ with them 
and it works. It would take a lot to convince me that any 
Englishman was a real friend of mine, in the sense of my 
American friends, so I don't care any more for them than 
they do for me and we get on beautifully. These men are 
just incidents in my life, pleasant incidents it is true, but 
just incidents. 

The real reason, though, is that I am so keen on the War, 
as an abstract problem, that I haven't much time for inter- 
est in individuals. I am far more interested in all the de- 
tails of the War which I see about me than I am in the indi- 
viduals who are prosfecuting it. For instance, I admire and 
like the men under me and would hate to see any of them go 
West, yet I am more interested in getting my supplies up 
than I am in the possibility of casualties. It would be an 
incident if several of my men were killed, but it would be 
more than an incident if I failed to deliver my rations and 
ammunition. In short death doesn't seem as dreadful to 
me as failure to do whatever job you are given to do. For 
each little failure prolongs the War, each little failure 
strengthens Prussian power. You can't imagine how one 
small failure ties things up everywhere. It is a very per- 
fect, but a very complicated machine, this Army, and one 
broken cog in the mechanism does a surprising amount of 
damage. 

I will write sometime if I can buck myself up to it. 

Did it ever occur to you that I am a bit shy with girls? 
I don't know that I am, I don't suppose I am, but I am 
not quite natural with them, I don't really believe I know 
any more about them than I do about Sanskrit. 

* A family joke. Translated it means pretending to be indifferent. 



258 LETTERS OF 

Feb. ijth, 1917. 

We are living in stirring times and no mistake. I only 
wish I could tell you some of the things I think I know and 
some of the things I am guessing about. But I don't really 
know much except that I firmly believe the War is at a 
very critical period, and that it is a time to be optimistic. 
As an example I was within about three kilos of a terrific 
scrap most of last night (very quiet where I was), yet I 
haven't any idea of what happened except that there are 
57 different rumors afloat today. 

Another parcel arrived yesterday from Jackson's. Now 
I am not crazy nor am I joking! No more parcels! I live 
very well without them, and I think everybody has got to 
go in for food economy. I don't really care anything for 
parcels, anyway; so this is final except for cigarettes which 
I still want sent. Also you might send me a flea belt, as I 
am at present a bit lousy! 

It looks as if my bet about America and March 1st are 
going W^est! 

Campbell turned up yesterday, but I only saw him a 
moment. Perhaps it was because he was tired from a long 
walk, but he looked older somehow. I think he is im- 
mensely liked in the Battalion and is a very, very efficient 
ofBcer. He would be even better as an Adjutant or 
Coy. Commander. I think his age is a big handicap to 
him, and he deserves all the more credit for sticking it so 
well. 

We are hoping to get well back for a rest in a few days. 
The men certainly have it coming to them. 

I am afraid my pony is going to be taken from me, as he 
really is an extra charger that we are not entitled to. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 259 

Feb. 28, 191 7. 

Last night I got sent on a new sort of job and my regular 
party was put under an N.C.O., a nice conscientious chap 
but stupid. He tried on a little scheme which always 
tempted me, but for which I hadn't fallen. Result two 
men wounded, one horse killed, two mules wounded. This 
chap was leading the horse which was, as he expressed it, 
literally blown out of his hands, and he wasn't touched! 
Marvellous, wasn't it.^ Everything got all balled up and 
I had to go out again after I returned from my own job. 
I felt sorry for this poor chap, but he was asking for trouble 
and he sure got it, although it turned out very luckily on 
the whole. The mule between the two that were hit was 
loaded with explosives. I am betting dollars to doughnuts 
they give the same spot hell tonight, but I won't be there. 
Nor will I be near it. 

Mrs. Starr's ^ letter was splendid, but very tragic. I 
don't know whether I did right in writing her as I did, but 
I meant every word I said and somehow or other couldn't 
help saying it. Don't get wind up about the push. 

Glad you are enjoying Sandwich. I have written you 
every day except one for a long time now, so you can check 
my letters. 

March 1st, 191 7. 

I GOT a letter from you enclosing one from Mrs. Gren- 
fell, and one from Mrs. Harris (which I can't read). I am 

^ Mrs. Louis Starr, Dill's mother. Apparently Caspar's letter of sympathy to 
her was a help. She writes to Father and Mother after Caspar's death: "Caspar 
too was sweet. And his own going has been just as gallant and glorious as on the 
field, and it only differs from Dill's in that you had him at home to tend and 
serve. This will comfort you as long as you live. And then your pride in such a 
passing! Hiding his condition and going into another Army! It was magnificent. 
You will in time hold up your heads and thank God for his heroic memory. Cas- 
par will share it with you and be near you. It comforts me to know that our two 
boys are meeting. Heaven must be a lovely place with all these happy laughing 
boys there." 



26o LETTERS OF 

sorry for the Doctor! This is where he belongs and he 
knows it. Of course the R.A.M.C. can't fool with people 
for a few months at a time unless through some side-show. 
This old War is a jealous mistress: she takes your whole 
and doesn't leave anything over. My word, what a regi- 
mental M.O. he would make for the front line! The good 
he could do would be incalculable. I am just going to write 
a long letter to John Evans. I liked Miss Bowdoin. I don't 
think I have ever once thought of anything connected with 
the North for months. It seems all so remote. In fact 
everything seems remote when you are in this show. 

Such a nice man named Lorney Campbell of the & 

Highlanders was killed last night. He was six feet 

four and a magnificent man, one of Connie's ^ clan, but not 
family I should say. Things are sure warming up a bit in 
these parts. In fact as I was coming home shortly after 
midnight one of my mule drivers remarked to me, "Well, 
Sir, March isn't coming in very lamblike." There are so 
many rumors about nowadays that I have given up paying 
any attention to them. . . . 

It looks as though I have lost all my bets about the U.S.A. 

Am glad you are having a good time at Sandwich. What 
Dad needs is men and not thinking about boils. I may be 
prejudiced on the subject of boils because most people in 
Newfoundland have them continuously and never pay any 
attention to them, and here also even a good group of boils 
doesn't even get a man light duty. A boil isn't a pleasant 
thing and it tends to make one put in a good deal of thought 
on it, but the more thought that is put on it the more apt 
another one is to appear. Father "bears" everything in a 
way that is incredible to me. It is marvellous, but it is very 

^ The Lady Constance Emmott, before her marriage The Lady Constance 
Campbell, whom Caspar visited at Inverary. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 261 

nerve-racking to have to " bear " things. Think of that old 
classic, "I am an old man and have had many troubles, but 
most of them never happened." Boils come under this 
heading. Many things, such as me, Father has had to bear, 
and Heaven will be his reward, but it doesn't help any- 
body to get "wind up" over a boil; and you get more 
"wind up" over one of Dad's boils than he does himself. 

March 2nd, 19 17. 

Yesterday morning in the entire camp our total supply 
of cigarettes was four Woodbines. After the post came in 
I had 400 cigarettes. Captain Boumphrey had 300 and 
Kendall had 200! 

Yesterday afternoon Lashmar, one of D. Coy.'s officers, 
blew in. He stopped a tiny bit of whizz-bang with his leg, 
got some anti-tetanus serum shot in his arm and came here 
instead of going to hospital. Of course it amounts to noth- 
ing, but he would have got several weeks off if he hadn't 
applied to come here. So now I have the job of looking 
after his wound. 

Of course you know by now of the Huns falling back. 
I can't telHyou anything, of course, and opinions differ 
greatly. One thing is sure, however, it has put any amount 
of guts into everybody here. Personally, were it not for 
the psychological factor, I think it a clever move on his 
part. He sure is getting hell along here and he has terrible 
wind up, but Miss Krupp is still turning out plenty. 

I saw a few cavalry the other day. My word, they did 
look smart alongside of our lads. But you should have 
heard the remarks our lads passed to them. Such as, 
" How did you manage to get exemption ? " "You'd better 
be careful or Lloyd George will put you on munitions, then 
you might get near some high explosives "; etc. 



262 LETTERS OF 

I haven't the vaguest idea now how long we shall be here. 
It certainly seems more than possible that plans may be 
changed. Oh, well, I have got over dealing in futures, the 
present and my job are quite enough to hold me. 

I hear more American rumors, but they are very vague. 

March 2nd, 1917. 

Dear x-^lice,^ 

As I censor daily many letters from gentlemen to the 
young ladies with whom they "walk out," thanking them 
for parcels, I know exactly what to say, so here goes! 

"I hope this finds you in the pink as it finds me. I re- 
ceived your most welcome parcel on coming out of the 
trenches, and it was a fair treat. Me and me mate et it all 
at one sitting." 

But seriously, thanks! We live, to my thinking, very 
well, but still, as the song goes, "Every little bit added to 
what you've got — " I dare say I live quite as well as you do. 
I am most curious to know how you are making out. I am 
sure you have had your troubles, and what is more I am 
sure they are what I call "pesky" troubles. They are the 
kind I haven't got the pluck to stick, but I admire anybody 
who can stick them. We have our troubles here, principally 
ones "made in Germany," but they are not "pesky." I 
should love to hear what your work is like, so if you get 
any spare time please drop me a line. I should like par- 
ticularly to know your opinion (your absolute frank opin- 
ion) as to what I ought to do in case America really does go 
to War; by that I mean raise an Expeditionary Force to 
try to kill a few Huns. As for me going to organize any- 
thing, it is a joke. I couldn't organize a dinner dance! If 
America was in danger, of course I should be there, or if 

* Miss Alice Bowler, of Cincinnati, at that time in England with Mother. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 0.62 

anybody could convince me that America was actually 
raising a force for killing Huns I should be there, but I 
"hae me doots." You can't imagine how cheap I should 
feel if I were to apply to get out of this delightful little 
party into an army in training, which would probably never 
even reach this peaceful spot before peace was declared. 
Still, I should swallow hard and do it if I thought it was the 
thing to do. But it really seems to me that the principal 
thing is to try to kill Huns. Well, can you do it in an 
American Army, if there is ever such an organization? I 
simply ask for your opinion, which I value highly. It is 
very hard to get a proper perspective on things out here. 

I have really had a good time out here. It isn't as bad as 
it is cracked up to be. But still I haven't been in a push 
yet. I am one of the poor deluded fools who firmly believe 
that "Miss Krupp" hasn't made my pill yet. I get horribly 
scared at times! In fact, I almost get sick with fear! But 
one thing always pulls me through, I always say to myself, 
"If all these Englishmen can stick this, surely an American 
can." Sort of puts one on one's mettle, that thought. 

I should also like very much to know what you think of 
Father's condition, as I am really worried about him. 

If I can manage to get a nice Blighty wound I shall try 
to get to your hospital. 

Well, au revoir until we meet again. 

Cap. 

March ^rd, 191 7. 

Dear Mother, 

Only time for a line today, as I have been distinctly 
busy. 

All kinds of rumors about America, but I can't find out 
anything definite. But now that I have made up my mind 
I don't worry much. . . . 



264 LETTERS OF 

I had a most interesting talk with a French interpreter 
attached to Division about conditions in the French Army. 
Of course I can't write about it. 

Last night was the most curious one I have spent on this 
job. I give you my word for about five hours not a gun was 
fired anywhere near. I kept thinking of "The Deserted 
Village," and also there was a sort of nasty feeling sugges- 
tive of an oily sea and a main boom jibing back and forth 
with a rotten low black cloud on the horizon. It put the 
wind up in me as nothing yet has. Curious, wasn't it? But 
my hunch was fairly good, for after I was out of it all, hell 
was literally turned loose. 

Our Battalion has just been reported as having less 
trench-feet during January-February than any Battalion 
in the Division, so we are pretty chesty today. 

It looks as if I were going to be able to keep my pony 
after all. I really am glad. Astin, with a twinkle in his eye, 
has just told me Division has issued a "Wind Dangerous" 
signal with the remark, "I hope I am not getting your 
wind up, Sir." I may tell you some red-hat holds down 
the difficult job of ascertaining which way the wind is 
blowing and hangs out a little sign to which nobody pays 
the least attention. As if every T.A. isn't aware of what 
direction the wind is blowing. 

March 4tJi, 1917. 

Things are sure lively around here now. We got about 
150 Huns last night and a lot more were killed, I believe, 
without heavy casualties. The gentle Hun is certainly hav- 
ing a poor time in these parts, but his artillery is going strong. 

Rumors are flying around so fast at present that one 
would go crazy if they took them seriously. But I suppose 
there is some truth at the bottom of them all. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 265 

How can Wilson back down after this Laconia business? 
I suppose he will, but I don't quite see how. 

I fear we are not going back as soon as I thought and we 
may have several more days in the line. The Division cer- 
tainly has earned a rest and really needs it, but will they 
get it? 

I suppose you will be back in town by the time this 
reaches you, and I really think there is more than a sport- 
ing chance of my being there in the next three weeks. But 
I am not banking on this too much. 

No post yesterday. By the way, will you send me about 
six of these writing tablets, as several chaps like them and 
I would like to give them one? Also send Astin, "Pte. 
Astin, D. Coy., 4th King's," some Gold Flake. I am cu- 
rious to know what sort of a letter he would write thank- 
ing you. Let him know that you sent them. 

March 6th, 191 7. 

We are supposed to be going back on the 8th. This is 
the latest at any rate. How long we are back for and just 
where we are going is another matter. 

The Hun is getting very annoyed the last few days, and 
seems to have any amount of stuff to fling over. Person- 
ally I wish he would try to start something big here, as I 
think he would get all he was looking for, but I don't be- 
lieve he will. At any rate we have given him a pretty good 
hiding in this section lately. 

I got the Times describing the show you were mixed up 
in.^ What amused me and everybody here were the refer- 
ences to Northcliffe being so used to shell fire that he 
.doesn't mind it at all. 

^ ThebombardmentofRamsgate by German destroyers. Father and Mother 
were near, at Sandwich. 



266 LETTERS OF 

I hear nothing more about the U.S.A., so judge Wilson's 
patience is still holding on. I can't make it out at all, but 
I have got enough to keep me busy without worrying about 
something I can't help. . . . 

I just found out yesterday that one of my mule drivers 
is an American. Comes from Portland, Maine, and has 
been in about every spot or rather port in the world, but 
as he remarked to me, "This is the only place I have ever 
been that I don't want to see again." 

It is really a pitiful sight to see grass trying to grow in 
tiny patches in this God-forsaken land. 

March gth, 1917. 

Just time for a line tonight. I got a letter of Mr. Irving's. 
He seems a bit pessimistic to me, but it is hard to get a 
proper perspective at this distance. 

We are going back day after tomorrow! Really back! 
Back where the guns can barely be heard. Of course as 
usual our Brigade is going to be in an absolutely dead 

town. But I suppose they are right, as we and the ist 

and the 2nd Highlanders and the 4th are a bit 

too much for a decent French town. It has been tried out 
and doesn't work out very well. 

As to leave, I will get it in the next month or not at all. 
At least that is my dope on the situation. But it isn't as 
bad as if I had a wife. 

The mail is terrible! I got a letter from you dated the 
25th and four days later I get one dated the 20th. 

The latest rumor is that we are going to a perfectly 
hellish part of the line, but still we will be able to get mail 
and leave. 

What in the world did Campbell write about me.^ I 
haven't done anything. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 267 

March gth, 1917. 

I didn't have a second yesterday to write and only have 
about two today. Moving a Battalion is no small job. We 
are back so far now that I saw a civilian today — the first 
since January 21st; also a pane of glass. We are not very 
comfortable, the men, I mean, but still it isn't so bad to be 
where those 5.9's can't reach you. 

Campbell has very bad feet, but seems O.K. otherwise. 
Simply a large crop of blisters. 

Have come to the conclusion that the old house mover 
has the worst known job. 

March loth, 1917. 

Thank goodness, we are settled, even if it isn't much of 
a place. 

I now know more or less what our plans are, but I can't 
say a word except that after a rest we are making a big 
change. In short, I don't think we shall be in action for 
some time, but I think we will see a bit of a scrap then. 

Leave is still stopped and I have adopted the mental 
attitude that I don't expect any until apres la guerre, but 
will be pleased when it does come. 

Certainly we deserve a bit of a rest (not I, but the Bri- 
gade), as we have been continuously in this section longer 
than any other unit in the whole Army. 

Tomorrow is Sunday, I shall try to go to the early Serv- 
ice. To have to march the Company to the compulsory 
service is almost more than I can bear. God knows I don't 
blame the Padres, but the system is terrible! And nobody 
seems to see it as I do. 

I must say it annoys me to see Hun prisoners living in 
more comfort than our lads. They are not a bad-looking 
lot. Personally I don't hold any sentiment against the 



268 LETTERS OF 

ordinary Hun private. It is the Prussian powers who are 
responsible for the whole damnable doctrine of Militarism 
who are the guilty ones. Of course this doctrine has been so 
thoroughly inculcated in them that they get thoroughly 
Hunnish, but I don't really believe they are morally guilty. 

March lith, 1 91 7. 

Finally the mail arrived. I loved getting your letters 
and Dad's. I also got Kitty's and a letter from Lady 
Isabel.^ I shall answer them. 

^ The Lady Isabel Margesson and her daughter, at whose house, Barnt Green, 
he had visited. Lady Isabel writes: "You know how much I loved and how greatly 
I admired your beloved son. All his heroism in coming to England and in going 
through the endless privations of a private's training just in order to satisfy the 
call of the Ideal within him, can never be forgotten by any of us who knew him 
and heard his easy, delightful, and almost careless description of those awful ex- 
periences of training and of war. He made so Ught, like the true hero that he was, 
of all his great actions, of his sacrifices, of his courage, of his wonderful comrade- 
ship and understanding of his men. I loved hearing him talk of the Tommy — he 
was so discriminating in his praise, so delicately sympathetic of his point of view, 
and he made me see quite a different Tommy to what I had seen before. How his 
men must have loved your Caspar and how much he did for them." 

In a later letter she writes: "You tell us that most moving story of how your 
precious sonknewof his own death sentence and of how he had hidden his knowl- 
edge from you in his tender loving wish to save you and his father and, more than 
even this, he had kept his cheerfulness and gaiety so that no one should even 
dream of what he knew. We are profoundly touched by the thought of this won- 
derful story of such high heroism. What must it not have cost him, day in, day 
out, to carry out his purpose! I know of no action so hard as this, to live the daily 
ordinary life with those you love and to betray in no slightest degree your secret 
of fate and suffering. Dear Byrd, one's heart aches for him as well as thrills with 
admiration when one thinks of the cost that he paid with such willingness even 
unto the end — that he might express in this way his deep love for you and his 
father. Surely the welcome of ' Well done, good and faithful servant,' must have 
been his when he passed into the Great Beyond. We thought, no, we think of him 
as a hero going out to that cruel war, but how little we knew of the far fiercer or- 
deal that he had to face and overcome as his share of the awful struggle which our 
men had to face for our sakes. . . . You have yourTriumphant Joy In that your 
dear Caspar has shown the world what Sacrifice means, what a Great Soul can 
achieve." 

Kitty writes : " Father and I have just come back from visiting the battle-fields 
to be greeted by the sad family news about dear Caspar. We are distracted for 
you, and grieved for ourown loss too, for as you know he hadcrept into our hearts, 
and we loved him with a grateful love for the imaginative way he had joined our 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 269 

The Service today was too ghastly! A mound of sand- 
bags built up for the Padre and all the rest of us standing 
ankle deep in mud. I am just a good enough Christian to 
have it really pain me to see the Church making a mess of 
things. 

I am glad you have been having such a good time at 
Sandwich. I really hope I shall be returned to my platoon. 
I haven't much of a conscience left, but what is left does 
trouble me. My job is no cinch, but still it is better than I 
deserve. It amounts to being under shell fire for a few hours 
each day, but I miss machine guns! 

Tell Father that I have been having a very good time 
with bridge. 

March 14th, 1 91 7. 

Dear Mother, 

I GOT two letters from you today, also the letter from 
Louie Bryce. I am very fond of her and would like to see 
her again. I am so glad she is happy. . . . 

I think I will call off my "No parcels" order, as nobody 
seems to see it as I do. As I eat their parcels it seems the 
thing to do to do my share. So that's that. 

I am really glad that you are at Sandwich. I am sure it 
is just the place for you. My advice would be to stick there 
as long as possible. 

Leave hasn't opened at all and I am not optimistic. It 
looks as if I won't get any leave till after we do a bit of 
pushing. "But what's the use of worrying?" 

Army, and had made himself one with our hopes and fears. ... I can't believe 
now that he is gone, he was so vital in himself, and had such an eye for the lights 
and shades in others, and how he took them off, and made one laugh over them! 
His has been one of the names so often on our lips in our visit to the front. What 
heroism and what endurance, one can hardly see the country for the ghosts and 
the fine qualities that still seem to haunt the air." 



T]o LETTERS OF 

It isn't turning out to be much of a rest for the men, as 
the training is distinctly strenuous. It is rather unsatis- 
factory training my platoon and then getting shifted to 
another job. But still it is what I am told to do and I can't 
avoid it. 

Walter never wrote me, but I wrote him. I fancy he is 
"crocked." ... I get a wild note from Mrs. Lewis every 
now and then. 

Nobody seems interested in America any more. 

March i^th, 1917. 

Just got two letters from Father about you. I am so 
sorry! If I thought you were really strong I shouldn't 
worry in the least, I should be simply sorry that you had to 
go through pain. As it is I am not only sorry, but I am 
really worried, for I fear the pain may pull you down. I 
shall be most anxious not only for the next few days, but 
for some time. 

Our family does seem to go in unnecessarily for minor 
ailments. I think the ghost of Dr. Bradford pursues us. 
We never die and we never get well. 

I don't seem able to write about anything else. 

March i6th, 1917. 

No post today, so that I haven't an idea how you are. 
I am very anxious, that is for me, but I can't do anything. 
I can't even hear from you, and couldn't do anything if I 
could. If anything really serious should ever happen you 
could always telegraph me. 

Big things are in the air for us. I can't even hint at what 
we are apparently in for. All I can say is that everything 
points to the fact that we will be doing very hard work, but 
won't be in action for some time. I am apparently per- 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 271 

manently back to my platoon, as the Transport can get on 
without me at our new game. We have to get our kits 
down to thirty-five pounds, and dump the rest. I wonder 
if I shall ever see it again. 

We were marching past a huge military cemetery the 
other day. Behind me I heard Astin say to a pal, "I won- 
der what they all died of, 'Erb, must have been a epidemic 
of measles about here." 

Am enjoying Campbell more than ever. He sends love 
often. 

March 17 th, 191 7. 

Two letters from Father today. I am quite relieved. 
I hope it doesn't take you long to pick up. I am afraid that 
if we get on the move in a day or two I may not hear from 
you for some time. 

By the way, will Father look in my "lares and penates" 
and get three books, "Infantry Training," "Field Service 
Pocket Book" and "Field Service Regulations, Part I"? 
They should all be there, if not please buy and send them 
to me. . . . 

The war news is so big that I couldn't really tackle it 
even if I could write what I wanted to. One thing I do 
know. In one sector where the Boche is retiring he didn't 
put in a pleasant winter. Also he held far stronger positions 
than we held, and he certainly didn't give them up because 
he was too comfortable there. We shall see! I fancy we 
shall see from front row stalls after a certain time, but I 
don't think that time is very near. 

I was a regular Hun today or rather on tonight's parade. 
After I had made a thorough Hun of myself I remembered 
that it was St. Patrick's Day and that my victims were 
Irish. I feel very cheap now. 



272 LETTERS OF 

March iSth, 191 7. 

Just come back from Church Service and thought we 
might get the rest of the day off, but no such luck. 

Don't get excited, but it really looks as though leave 
might open. If it does open I am now well up in the list, 
what with casualties, transfers, etc. But we shall see. 

It is very amusing to see these officers trying to reduce 
their kits. For an Englishman to give up what he consid- 
ers the decencies of life is a sacrifice the greatness of which 
is incalculable. But we are going to be down to very little. 
I may send my spare things to you. I haven't decided yet. 

I am really getting interested in licking my platoon into 
shape, and I think it is coming on splendidly. I don't know 
how efficient my methods are and I am sure they are not 
orthodox, but of one thing I am sure; my platoon is loyal 
to me. I am really anxious to test my methods in some 
really hot show. As an example you know I couldn't " tidy 
up" a bare kitchen table. Well, I have explained my 
weakness to Sergt. Foote and put him in charge of this 
department. Today the Colonel inspecting huts reported 
mine as the neatest of the sixteen. I had done nothing ex- 
cept that I think I have won Sergt. Foote's ^ loyalty. 

It is curious how many of my men ask me about pros- 
pects in America after the war. I should love to be in a 
position to get some of them good jobs. 

Sometime I will tell you about Corpl. Malloy,^ an old 
soldier and a Scot of Scots. He was a Sergeant and was 
accused of deserting and sentenced to be shot early in the 
War. He didn't try to desert, he simply met a pal from 
Glasgow and got drunk and disappeared. His sentence was 
not carried out and he has now been pardoned and has two 

* ^ Killed on the 23rd April on Arras front. 

* 2 Wounded with me on 20th May on Arras front. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 273 

of his stripes back. He is the best N.C.O. in the Coy., I 
think, and I kid myself that he would do anything for me. 
I certainly admire him. Sometime I will tell you his story 
in detail as I got it from him in a shell hole one night. And 
yet they say there is nothing dramatic in this War. 

Tell Helen she "backed a winner" when she married 
Campbell. 

March igth, 191 7. 

Got your letter today and was greatly relieved. 

I got a letter from Kitty Margesson, but never one from 
Kitty Anderson. 

Have had a very bad day; one of those days when you 
find that you have forgotten all sorts of details. 

I would love to be in this job of " following up." I would 
particularly like to see how the Hun has been living oppo- 
site where we were. I have so often wondered whether he 
were better off than we. Seems so curious to be fifty yards 
away from a place and have no idea what it is like. It also 
seems rather hard that we who did our best to make the 
Boche unhappy during the winter should be denied the 
pleasure of reaping the fruits of our labor, but I suppose it 
can't be helped; at any rate, as the song goes, "Send me 
where the Allemange can't chuck bombs at me," and that's 
where we are at present. 

They tell me we shall go a long way still. Some talk of 
leave, but nothing definite. 

March 20, 191 7. 
I ONLY wish I could write about the Hun retirement and 
what I think about it. As I can't, you must consider that 
I have filled up about four pages about it. Nothing else 
seems worth writing about. How I would love to be follow- 
ing them up! It must be rare sport. 



274 LETTERS OF 

I really will try to write the de Gisberts and there are 
dozens of others I ought to write to, but I dare say I never 
shall. I do loathe writing so much! 

It seems so funny at night to see the flashes of the guns 
and hear only a rumble and know that they can't reach 
you. It makes the whole show seem so unreal, and as Astin 
says, "It makes you feel awfully brave." 

Leave is not open yet and it looks to me as if it is a case 
of now or never. 

It has been an easy day today. Had a good game of 
bridge this evening, and, as T. A. says, "it isn't a bad old 
War tonight!" 

March 28th, 191 7. 

I COULD really give the old old excuse of being too busy 
to write and not be far off it. In addition to my platoon 
training I am now training scouts for the entire Battalion, 
and, as we spend all the evening in Conferences, I really 
am busy. 

We are back still farther in billets, living in real houses 
and I am actually sleeping in a bed. Astin got the fags and 
wrote a letter to Father which I censored without reading. 
I am curious to know what he had to say. He certainly is 
a great lad. Two Indians turned up having lost their way. 
He spoke their language apparently, for they grinned and 
nodded and off they went. Of course we used to be with 
the Indians when they were here, and he had picked up the 
language apparently. 

I don't think there is a possible chance of leave. 

I enclose a letter from Mrs. Seeger.^ 

^ The mother of Alan Seeger. After Caspar's death she writes to Mother: 

"51 Rue de Varenne, Paris. 

"So, Byrd dear, you have come to join our ranks, and your brave, splendid boy 
has given up the life he so willingly and freely offered, for the cause of decency, 
and justice, and honor. Eva writes me he was ill a long time, and my heart goes 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 275 

Tell Father I get the Times and enjoy it. Don't send 
any books, I haven't the time and it looks to me as though 
we were going to have a busy little spring and summer. 

I am greatly relieved about you. . . . 

April 3rd, 1917. 

I HAVE not written in a very long time, I know. I have 
a perfectly plausible excuse. I, or rather the Division has 
been on the move, covering a good many miles each day 
and after we have halted I have generally had to ride on 
ahead and reconnoitre a route for the next day. I could, of 
course, always have found time to write you, but have been 
so tired that I haven't had the guts to do it. We have 
always been behind the line and may be so for some time, 
but when we do go in I think it will be into something dis- 
tinctly large. At any rate we have moved, so that we are 
now in a different part altogether and a part new to me. 

We are back where there are civilians and no ruined 
towns. In fact it seems hard to realize that there is a war 
on at all. 

I saw a lot of refugees from the reconquered towns before 
I left. I shall never forget the sight. A number of young 
girls obviously syphilitic; nor shall I forget the look on 
their faces when they saw some Boche prisoners. 

In our billet last night was a young French soldier, "en 

out to you in love and tenderness when I think of all your hours of anxiety, and 
suffering; it is the easier way when the call comes in a moment of exaltation on 
the battle-field, in the heat of action, but after all life is one great battle-field and 
the hardest battles are behind closed doors, in the silence; his battles are over and 
with honor; it is for us to "carry on," even we old ones, and try and not make the 
world sadder for our griefs. ... I never forget Caspar's brightness, and thought- 
fulness, the day he took Elsie and me out on the river at Oxford, dear, dear boy. 
I send dear love and thoughts to you both, and as Alan told me, you must ' hold 
your heads high/ and try and only be thankful to have had so brave a son. 

"Your old friend, 

"Elsie Adams Seeger." 



276 LETTERS OF 

permission," he has three sisters in , one of the big 

places we are hoping to take soon. Poor lad! No wonder 
we hear the French are going very strong. Curiously this 
lad was wounded in the very trench I was in at Christmas, 
just a few weeks before we took over from the French. 
I like the French bourgeoise more and more; they are won- 
derful creatures. But how did the Scotch and the Jews ever 
get their reputation for closeness ? These women are charm- 
ing, hard-working, efficient, good fun, but not only close, 
but crooked as far as money is concerned. 

Did Astin write you, or rather what did he write? I now 
remember I censored the letter without reading it. I have 
discovered two new talents in him. No. i, he plays the 
violin. No. 2, he can converse with Sikhs! You see we 
were once in a division in which there were several Battal- 
ions of Sikhs. He is a wonder. 

As to America! I am all on pins and needles, but am 
more optimistic than I have been yet. 

Good Friday, 

April 6th, 1917. 

Well, it really looks, doesn't it, as if the U.S. finally 
meant business. It certainly is about time. I am very 
optimistic as to what she can do. In fact I think it may 
well be the straw which will break the camel's back. We 
shall see. Certainly they will make some terrible blunders. 
Only wish I could be there. But I can't unless they ask 
for me. 

W^e are still on the move, but I think we will soon be at 
our destination, which will not be far from the P in Push, 
I fancy. I really think that a very successful push will 
about wind this miserable show up, and high time too. 

You amuse me about your objections to my being called 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 277 

Woodrow. Don't you know Englishmen well enough to 
know that when they take liberties like that with you they 
like you? It is only the polite Englishman who is danger- 
ous. (See Kipling.) At any rate, the nickname was given 
me because I have so frequently aired my views on Wilson. 

I have been getting lots of parcels lately, thanks. 

On the whole I am very optimistic about the war, but it 
looks as if we were one of the lot selected for winning it, but 
I really know nothing. 

Good Friday. 

Just another line to let you know that I got your letter 
of April 2nd. How it got here I don't know. I will try to 
write tomorrow, but may not be able to. It is now 3.30 a.m. 
and we move at 6 a.m. You are right. I am the "Jack 
of all trades" of this Battln. and master of none. But it 
" ain't no bed of roses." I am now training Battalion "run-" 
ners." When I tell you that a new man fell out exhausted 
on our march yesterday and died later, you can guess that 
we are moving. 

April lOih, 1917. 

We have about finished our journey. "We are living in 
a farm." Well, the "stunt" is on O.K., and we are near it, 
waiting, and I dare say a few more hours or days at any 
rate and we will have box seats. I am very optimistic. I 
really believe we have got the old Hun this time. I really 
think a time will come in the next few days when he will be 
surrendering in droves. At any rate, everybody seems very 
confident. Certainly it is a momentous time. If I can do 
my bit in it and at the same time keep my skin whole I shall 
be mighty pleased with myself. I saw some of David's lot 
on our way up, but not the nth. My word, they did look 



278 LETTERS OF 

fit and smart and efficient. I only hope they are able to 
turn the trick. If we can give them a chance they certainly 
look as though they are ready. . . . 

This is the first big attack that this Division has not 
started in at the beginning and the old hands don't know 
what to make of it. 

I shall be on my own in the Transport this trip, as Boum- 
phrey is on a special Brigade job. It is the biggest re- 
sponsibility I have ever had; namely, to keep a BattaHon 
supplied with ammunition, bombs, etc., food and water in 
a push is not so easy. Fortunately in a push you can more 
or less do it in your own way as Red Hats ^ are scarce and 
their red-tape which is so binding and annoying at other 
times becomes very elastic. 

I quite agree with Col. Lasslter.^ I shall wait until an 
American Force arrives in Europe and then, while still 
holding my present commission, apply to get attached to 
it. It would be very easy if I could get some American 
Army official to ask for me. 

When America declared war Caspar went to his CO. and 
said, "May I have twenty-four hours' leave, Sir.?" 

His colonel replied, "You may have forty-eight, and will 
you invite me to the party?" 

Jpril 20th, 191 7. 
Dear Mother, 

It seems a hundred years since I wrote you, but this 
time I am not doing any apologizing for not writing. I have 
been working at the highest pitch I have ever reached. I 

*i Staff Officers. 

* American Military Attache at London, afterwards General Lassiter, of the 
A.E.F. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 279 

did over fifty hours without sleep or hot food in a snow- 
storm, but that was only getting here. You guessed right! 
We are right in the first line of the offensive. In fact I have 
just come back from the Hindenburg Line which our lads 
are occupying. Believe me, it is no myth. How they ever 
got it I don't know, but there they are and only waiting 
half a chance with the weather to shove on. Everything is 
working perfectly and if we can only get a few decent days 
we will go a lot further. The Boche infantry is beginning 
to crack, but his artillery is marvellous. Of course he has 
the range of every spot to a foot, as he has lived here for 
over two years. I have got my lot out in the middle of a 
big field without a bit of shelter, and not a shell has come 
near us yet, that is within fifty yards, while the people who 
are using the Hun's old haunts get it regularly. As old 
Thompson, of the Jocks, who has just moved out to me, 
says, " I don't mind being shelled, but I do object to be 
sniped at with 5.9's." 

About an hour ago a whizz-bang hit about five yards 
from me and wounded a man on each side of me, both of 
them beautiful blighty ones. I was almost touching the 
Jock sergeant who was hit in the calf of his leg. There 
wasn't a hint even momentarily of pain, simply a broad 
grin and then, "Mon, I'm for Blighty." 

Tell France not to be too anxious about David; his lot 
were everywhere a few days ago, but have disappeared. I 
don't really see how they can do so very much. It is all too 
terrific even to write about. I didn't have any more idea 
what War is than you have until I got into this. I am for 
the time being almost deaf from the noise. A battery of 
heavies fires right over my tent (so-called). Astin is more 
of a gem than ever. He wanted to go up to the line with me 
last night. He said it was part of a servant's job to look 



a8o LETTERS OF 

after his officer. The truth of the matter is that he has 
never missed a show, starting at Loos, and doesn't like 
staying out of the line. My job is not easy at present, but 
it is a cinch compared to the men in the line. 

I am amused at the German question at Hinchingbrooke.^ 
Here's what I should do. I should parade them all at about 
5 A.M. I should take one service rifle. I should fix my bay- 
onet and place five live rounds in the magazine in front of 
their eyes. I should then inform them that the world's 
record for planting potatoes was two acres per man per day, 
but that they were going to make a new record, namely, 
three acres per day. I would then work the bolt several 
times and then give them the order to go to it. The Boche 
understands that kind of language. Then after the new 
world's record had been made I would be friendly, even 
enjoy being so. 

Did I tell you of the episode of Sergt. Gallagher before 
we left the Somme? A lot of women refugees were being 
evacuated and a long line of Hun prisoners were filing past 
them. The French ladies were somewhat crude in their 
remarks to the gentle Huns, when suddenly I heard Gal- 
lagher say in his thick brogue, " Sure it makes me homesick, 
'tis all the world like the wife when I roll in on a Saturday 
nicht havin' blown in me pay in the booze." 

Send me, please — 

1 King's cap badge. 

Some books (I must get my mind off this show for a few 
minutes a day). 

Parcels (as we are living on iron rations). 

2 neckties. 
Half-dozen khaki collars. 

* German prisoners were employed at Hinchingbrooke, the seat of the Earl of 
Sandwich. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 281 

I want to see this offensive out and then I am open to 
all American proposals. 

It seems curious to be living in a place where all the 
signs, etc., are German. 

One of the curious things is that we get no news; I know 
what is going on on about a five-mile front, but you know 
far more about the rest than I do. 

I will try to write each day as long as we are stationary, 
but I can make no promises if we get on the move. 

No possibility of leave for months. 

April 2ist, 1917. 

Still in the same place and nothing doing except ar- 
tillery, but I expect the next forty-eight hours at the out- 
side will produce something very big. . . . 

I am not in the least keen about Wilson. He made a 
good speech, it is true, but any red-blooded American would 
have made it two years ago. He is a tee-total Presbyterian 
schoolmaster and only an occasional witty Scot can carry 
that handicap and get away with it. I still believe that he 
plays only for the vote; I think he switched only because 
he had to. Instead of being a leader he has been a hyp- 
notist to our country. I think he is yellow-livered and a 
coward and I would like to have him here to prove my ac- 
cusations. I doubt very much if he would have acted in the 
same way had the Boche been winning. Our country is 
O.K. and the time came when they threw off the narcotics 
administered by Doc. Wilson. 

I am really getting to be quite a character in this Divi- 
sion. I really have a very good time. Two days ago up at 
the line when things were rather hot the Brigade Major 
came along and shouted out, "Good afternoon, Woodrow, 
not much of a spot for a neutral." To which I replied : ** Sir, 



282 LETTERS OF 

it is my duty as a German spy to gain all the information 
possible at whatever risk." And so it goes. There is a 
French interpreter attached to the Brigade whom nobody 
likes (and rightly so) and they are all scrupulously polite 
in a way I could never stand. I always tell them that the 
reason the Boche is getting demoralized is that he knows 
that some real men will be over here soon. A staff captain 
got me aside the other day and said, "Really, Woodrow, I 
think in time it will be possible to arrange for your trans- 
fer." I said, "Na pooh, I should be made a staff officer and 
then I would be of no more use than you." They love it. 
I 've got to go up to the line again. My water cart which 
I left there has been na-poohed. Damn ! But it seems very 
quiet just now. 

April 22nd, 191 7. 

Only time for a line today, as I have been very busy. It 
is a truly glorious day and I am just realizing how really 
devilish the weather has been. I expect the biggest battle 
of the war at any moment. But at any rate I won't be one 
of the ones to go over the top and there isn't any reason 
why I shouldn't come through with flying colors. I only 
hope Campbell comes through O.K. I may be all wrong, 
but I don't think so far the casualties have been anything 
like what they were last year. But even at that the " burial 
parties" are pretty gruesome affairs. One curious side of 
the Boche is the work and care he has put in on his grave- 
yards, and really they are in excellent taste. Another 
rather surprising thing is that nobody ever steals the 
wooden crosses for firewood. 

I have been watching aeroplane scraps today until my 
neck hurts. The air fighting is really getting desperate. 
Too tired to write more. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 283 

April ? I think it is — 

April l-^rd, 191 7. 

The Brigade went over the top this morning. We gained 
our objective at all points and already over a thousand pris- 
oners have come back and our Brigade isn't noted for 
taking prisoners! I never believed such a bombardment 
possible. They tell me the Somme at its top was like Guy 
Fawkes Day in comparison. The gem of the whole show is 
the following. A Jock private was left in charge of a gre- 
nade dump. After his Batt. had swept by, a Boche ap- 
peared up out of the bowels of the earth. He ended by 
bringing in alone seventy-seven prisoners, and just to cap 
the climax I discovered that he had lost the bolt of his 
rifle. He asked the Staff Captain if he couldn't go back 
immediately to his dump, as the King's were near it and 
he was sure they would "win" his grenades. As a matter 
of fact our Battalion was in support, but at the present 
moment they are going over, I fancy. 

We are now in another army. 

Would you like one of my men as a chauffeur after the 
war? He is an American named Read or Reid and was 
chauffeur to a Mr. Blake, "the telephone inventor" in 
Newton, for three years. I know him to be a good man in a 
pinch. 

Itisaquestionof "Dogeat Dog"now. This I am sure is 
the final scrap. 

All my envelopes are stuck with the wet weather. 

Give my love to Faith. I will write her when I get a 
chance. I was the only lot that pulled out tonight without 
a casualty, so I am rather cocky. I have invented a system. 

Later. 
Between intervals of being shelled Astin has built me a 
table and a chair, with the sly remark that I can carry on 



284 LETTERS OF 

my correspondence easier. It is four in the morning and I 
have to stand by to go up at three minutes' notice, so I 
might as well write a bit more. 

I just wrote "write" "right," so I fancy I am a bit more 
wind up than I thought. 

Tell France not to worry in the least about David. They 
are all gone. 

I saw in one place today at least two thousand dead 
Huns all in a space of two acres. If it only wasn't for their 
artillery we would have them now. The latest order is 
"Shell shock is abolished in this division." And a good 
thing too! I don't believe pathologically such a thing ever 
existed. It's the same thing as nerves. 

This is from the London Times account of the 24th 
April, 1 91 7, the day Caspar wrote at 4 a.m.: 

"Nothing could exceed the gallantry with which sup- 
plies, whether by carrying parties or by transport, are taken 
up to our fighting men. It will readily be understood that 
when we push forward, supplies of food, water and other 
things must go up across ground the enemy has just been 
driven from, which he knows well and is barraging. I have 
myself more than once marvelled at the nonchalance with 
which the transport moves on through a shelled district, 
contemptuous alike of shrapnel overhead, or high explo- 
sives. Of course there are losses, but it makes no difference 
and the whole army is loud in its praise of the behavior of 
its transport." 

April 26th, 1917. 

Dear Mother, 

Well, it is all over and thank God we didn't get it so 
very badly. It was one of the most desperate scraps of the 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 285 

whole War. Campbell is safe and we are way back of the 
line for a rest. This poor old Division is very badly cut up 
and our Brigade the worst of any. The poor old Jocks got 
the worst of it, but really won the scrap. It was a terrible 
sight seeing them come out so few, but so full of fight. Per- 
sonally I don't see how we can be shoved in again for some 
time, but you never can tell. One of the curious things is 
that the boys all heard that I had been killed and appar- 
ently believed it, although at the time I was in an area 
where only an occasional shell was dropping and they were 
several hundred yards ahead in the midst of the Boche 
barrage. As a matter of fact I had a very easy time of it, 
all things considered. But let me tell you it was a hard nut 
to crack — attack and counter-attack, but we hold our 
objectives. Tell France not to be anxious. David won't be 
in this show for months, if ever. It is a case of Infantry and 
Artillery and dog eat dog from now on. My platoon got 
rather badly cut up. Sergt. Foote was killed and eight 
others, as well as several wounded. It's an awful game this 
when you really get down to it. 

I realize that I ought to be more interested in American 
affairs, etc., than I am, but when a Boche barrage is hov- 
ering around in your vicinity it doesn't conduce to broaden 
your views on the ultimate conclusion of the war. Just to 
get your job done and get into a safe place is about the 
highest pitch I am capable of reaching, and I haven't really 
seen anything. But we do want American troops. I know 
they will fight like devils and I don't think they will need 
so very much training. Remember the Anzacs at Gallipoli: 
well, they hadn't had very much. I should love to be with 
them in any capacity when they first "go over." 

We are now back where the Boche has never been since 
the Marne, but only several kilos off the old lines. Yet the 



286 LETTERS OF 

irony of it ! This was for two years a quiet part of the line ! 
And most of the houses are still intact. 



May ^th, 1 91 7. 

Well, we are back again after our short rest. . . . Now 
this is a fact. I am not in as much danger as the rest of the 
Battalion, but the great thing from your (to me incompre- 
hensible) point of view is that should I be killed or wounded 
I should be out of the mix-up in the line and I sleep next to 
the Battalion Orderly Room Sergeant who is my very good 
friend and who would send off a telegram within fifteen 
minutes did I not return with my party. So no news is 
good news in my case at least. If you could see us now. I 
never realized how great Bairnsfather was before. We are 
just behind one of the big shows of the war ready to go in 
at one hour's notice. We are all bivouacing in what was 
once the " Place " of a prosperous French town. In the cen- 
tre of the Place is my bivouac under an old French mar- 
ket wagon. On the bivouac sheet is written with a piece of 
chalk, "Mr. Woodrow of U.S.A. Transport Officer 
4TH The King's," with an American flag underneath. 
Near me Astin has constructed what he calls the Chateau. 
It consists of an old four-poster bed stuck on the parapet 
of the old Hun trench with a bivouac sheet over the posts. 
The effect amidst the roar and flare of the guns at night 
is something only Bairnsfather could draw. 

Campbell has gone to the rest station with a septic foot. 
I had a scrap with the CO. and I thought Campbell was 
going to get my job for the next trip in. Am afraid he is in 
for a long time, as I think he is run down and not able to 
throw it off. . . . 

You made a very good guess about us and my last 
show. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 287 

May yth, 1917. 
You say you are satisfied with only a line. Haven't time 
for more. 

May 8th, 1917. 

We are still just behind the lines and can't quite make it 
out why we don't go in. We, or rather I, have been very 
busy with a Divisional Race Meeting. It was perfectly 
done. A beautiful course, splendid races with everything 

complete. Signs up in all the ruined villages > > 

to Epsom Downs. A lot of men dressedup as costers, women, 
nigger minstrels, etc. The mule race was won by my mule 
"Lousy" ridden by one Pte. Gabriel out of a field of 118. 
I won quite a lot of money, but blew it all in at an At 
Home. Sent the Mess Corporal out to a canteen and bought 
up the place and gave the gayest little party you have ever 
seen. As old McArdle of the Jocks said in a hectic speech, 

"It took a Yankee to give the best 'Trench 

warmin' ' party ever pulled off in France." I rode, but was 
unplaced; we have no chance against A.S.C., R.E.'s, etc. 
My mule, I may add, had a bit of shrapnel go right through 
its neck last winter. 

Honestly the Boche dug-outs around here are the most 
marvellous things I ever imagined. 

Curious how callous one becomes here. The whole sky 
alightwith theguns and onedoesn't pay the least attention 
to them, in fact is not interested as long as they can't hit 
you. 

Am sending this to Oxford, as it will probably reach you 
a day sooner. 

{Undated.) 
Posted May 17, 191 7. 

I AM in the front line in the same place that we made our 
last attack, only a bit farther on. We are so short of officers 



288 



LETTERS OF 



that I am back with my platoon. I am going over the top 
in charge of the first wave in about two hours. I figure 
there is about an even chance of my coming back, but I 
don't seem to care, though I am a bit wind up, I admit. . . . 
If I am snuffed out, well, that's that. I shall do my bit, 
I hope. All love. I think there is a chance of coming out 
O.K. 

O.H.M.S. War Office. 
London, 7.15. May 23, 1917. 

C. Burton, 

c/o Brown, Shipley & Co.y 
1 23 Pall Mall, S.W. 
Regret to inform you Second Lieutenant C. Burton, 4 
King's Liverpool Regt. wounded. May twenty. Will send 
any further news. 

Secretary, 
War Office. 






llrd Division, 

British Expeditionary Force, 
2nd Lieut. Caspar Burton, 
^th Batt. The King's, 
(Liverpool) Regt. 

Your Commanding Officer and Brigade Commander 
have informed me that you distinguished yourself on the 
field on the 

20th of May, 1 91 7. 

I have read the report with much pleasure. 

{Signed) R. T. Pinney, Major-General, 
Commanding i,yd Division. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 289 

The following letter, which he wrote two days before the 
telegram was sent from the War Office, reached Father and 
Mother almost as soon as the wire and so saved them the 
anguish of having no word directly from him. 

Monday, 2lst May, 1917. 
Casualty Clearing Station. 

Dear Mother, 

I GOT hit yesterday in the battle which I dare say you 
have read about. I took the first party down the main 
Hindenburg Line. Twenty picked bombers, Astin and 
myself. It was a fight after my own liking, bombs and hand- 
to-hand fighting and we licked the Prussian Guard, or 
rather the ones who came after us did, for all my men with 
one exception are killed or wounded. 

I have got a certain Blighty one. Hit in the back by a 
Boche grenade, some splinters of which have gone into the 
lung. They tell me it takes months to get over this kind 
and then months of light duty. It may be some time be- 
fore I get to England, as I can't even be moved to a pukka 
hospital for fear of hemorrhage. I had a slight hemor- 
rhage after I was hit, but like a damned fool I walked and 
dragged myself for about two miles. I am able to write be- 
cause they won't let me lie down. 

Well, Mother, I thought they had me yesterday. Par- 
ticularly when I fainted once and the sensation was very 
curious. If real death is like what I was firmly convinced 
was death I am not in the least afraid of it. 

I must be a pretty tough nut, for except for the fact that 
I can't move my trunk by myself and that it hurts me to 
breathe, I can truly say, "I hope this finds you in the pink 
as it finds me." They found five more tiny little bits of 
shrapnel in me of which I knew nothing. 



290 LETTERS OF 

Keep cool! I did a good bit of work and got a beautiful 
Blighty. By the time I get to England I shall want to see 
you more than anything else in the world. For the present 
I am glad to be amongst strangers. 

Cap. 



From the results of this wound he died on March 24, 
1920. 

From a Hospital, 
May 22nd, 191 7. 

To C. H. Burton, Esq. 
Dear Sir: 

Just a few lines hoping this will find you in the best of 
health, as it leaves me at the present, although I am in 
a hospital wounded, not seriously wounded. I had a piece 
of a German bomb taken out of my face today. Mr. Burton 
is also wounded, I am very sorry to tell you, but I don't 
think you need have any anxiety as to his condition, as he 
will get over it all right, although it is rather a funny 
wound. I was wounded while I was alongside Mr. Burton 
and he was wounded shortly after me, he tells me. I was 
chatting with him while we were in the Clearing Station. 
The bullet that wounded Mr. Burton went clean through 
his steel helmet and wounded him in the back. I think he is 
in this hospital, and when the Doctor says I can get up I 
am going to try to find him because I am practically sure 
he will get home. Mr. Burton led the bombers in the at- 
tack on the 20th inst., and I was with him all the time until 
I was hit. I wanted to stay with him then, but they made 
me come away. Mr. Burton agrees with me that we had a 
fine hour's sport bombing the Germans until we were put 
"Hors de Combat." I have nothing more this time, but 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 291 

will write again shortly. I will now close with best respects 
to you and Mrs. Burton. 

I remain. 

Yours sincei^ely, 

H. ASTIN. 

May 23, 1917. 
Dear Spence, 

I SUPPOSE the orthodox thing is to write to one's Father 
Confessor before going into battle. As the next best thing 
I will write now after stopping a Boche grenade; (princi- 
pally because I can do nothing else but write). They won't 
let me lie down in bed and there is nothing to read. Well, 
I cut things a bit fine this time. A German gentleman 
whom we failed to "mop up "en passant (we didn't miss 
many), as his last act on this earth soaked me in the back 
with a small grenade and as near as I can make out, by 
all rights I should be pushing up the daisies, but "I ain't," 
and what's more, I have every intention of getting O.K. 
again. In fact, I may get in for the last three or four years 
of the war, but will be out for some months now. Read the 
accounts of the fighting on Sunday, May 20th, and you 
will know what we did. We are all pretty chesty in the old 
Division. I shall never forget early Sunday morning in the 
quiet with my picked crew of bruisers waiting for the hour. 
And then in one second every heUish device yet invented all 
going at once. I had just about forty minutes of it before I 
got mine. But I don't think I shall ever forget a single in- 
cident. It was what we are always praying for, a hand-to- 
hand scrap (a heavy fog did away with the M. guns). I 
will tell you about it at some future date. 

My point is this. What the American Army needs is 
"rough necks," thousands and thousandsof them. Rub this 



292 LETTERS OF 

in and keep rubbing it in. People of culture are needed 
in small doses, but "hard guys" are the thing. For in- 
stance, the following is the composition of the selected 
party under me which led the attack Sunday: 

Private Wallace, a stoker in civil life. 

Private Put, a boilermaker. 

Sergeant Malloy, a regular soldier, who has been sen- 
tenced to be shot once, for being drunk on active service 
and reduced to the ranks six times. 

Self, you can fill in my trade. 

Private Astin, my servant, plays a fiddle in a cheap dance 
hall. 

Private Casey, owns a small "pub" in Cork. 

Private Hard, a carter. 

Private Michaels, a collier. 

Private Hatnough, I think is a burglar, but my evidence 
is only indirect. 

Corp. Lopez, a halfbreed Portugee gentleman of the sea. 

Sergeant Gallagher, a Liverpool policeman, etc., etc., — 
just thirty picked men. 

My point is that we were the kind that were picked, 
and when you get a lot like this seeing red, you don't need 
much leadership. No, sir, Sir Galahads are not of much use 
against the Hun. 

I am wondering if, after some months light duty or some- 
thing of the sort, whether they could use me as an instruc- 
tor in the Harvard O.T.C. I could get leave to go there, I 
am sure, in case I am unfit for active service again. Of 
course, I am in wonderful condition and may be able to 
get well enough in a few months to get out here again, but 
they tell me that lung wounds are the slowest of the lot. 

Love, 

Cap. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 293 

P.S. I could instruct in Lewis Gun, Bombing, Rifle 
Grenades, and I should love to give some short talks about 
"What Ordinary Trench Warfare is Really Like." 

May 2Srd, 1917. 

Dear Mother, 

I AM doing splendidly, but I can see now that it may be 
two or three weeks before I get to Blighty. It is going to be 
a long tedious job getting O.K. with nothing to be done ex- 
cept rest, rest, rest. Well, I'm in for it, so might as well 
take it philosophically, but I do want your help. Please 
be with me as much as possible, but please, oh, please do 
not try to manage my convalescence. If we can just have a 
good time together I will do well. I can get over this thing 
in Craigleith if not interfered with, and on the other hand 
will not do well in the swankiest of West End hospitals if I 
am interfered with. I am in for a bad spell, but I will come 
out absolutely on top. Please remember (i) A poor hospital 
won't hurt me. (2) A poor doctor won't hurt me (as the 
stuff is not being taken out of my lung and there is nothing 
for a doctor to do). (3) Irritability and worry will be a big 
handicap. So.let mealone inmy relations with the R.A.M.C. 
and we will put in the best summer we can. I will never 
mention any of this again. 

It seems so curious reading about our stunt in the Paris 
papers. Every one seems to think it is the most successful 
stunt pulled off in a long time. Of course the newspaper 
report is the same as usual — much accent on the wonder- 
ful skill with which it was planned. Take it from me, and I 
led D. Coy. down 400 out of 800 yards of the objective be- 
fore I stopped mine, we got there by means of brute force 
and Mills bombs. Nothing panned out as we were told it 
would. The picked lot of ruffians I had simply saw red and 



294 LETTERS OF 

after a bit of very skilful resistance the Hun was mentally, 
morally and physically whipped. Well, I'll tell you all 
about it when I see you. 

I came out of this show with one pair of breeches badly 
torn, one puttee ditto, one pair boots, one pair socks, one 
pair underdrawers, a pocket knife, and twenty-five francs. 
Nothing above the waist except gore. Some sight I must 
have been. 

Well, look for me in two weeks' time. They tell me you 
have no choice of hospitals now. 

May z\th, 1917. 

I AM feeling much better today. Only one lung is hit, I 
am now sure, and the bleeding from the mouth has practi- 
cally stopped. What a thing it is to be fit. I really have put 
in a pleasant day today; seems incredible, but it is true, 
and I have forgotten about the fight; it seems very remote. 

I do miss Astin; I think he will get the D.C.M. out of 
this show. . . . 

There is a wonderful old matron here. We are getting 
quite chummy. I never beheved it possible that a trained 
nurse (L. B. excepted) could have given the order she 
gave when I was brought here. It was to give me a quarter 
morphia, lay me in a clean bed, mud, blood, sweat and all, 
and not disturb me for three hours. God bless her for it, 
for the long motor ride had nearly "got me"; that is to say, 
I was nearly, damn it, hysterical with the pain. When I 
think of it, it seems inconceivable that I should be so com- 
fortable now. 

Where we are is truly La Belle France. Our tents are in a 
splendid old orchard and on my table is the most beautiful 
bunch of lilacs I have ever smelt. I never went into rap- 
tures over the smell of flowers, but as a change from dead 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 295 

Boche they are O.K. If the Boches do turn their dead into 
fat (which I don't beHeve) I wish they would make a col- 
lection before we relieve them of another trench. There 
are Hun cemeteries in all the areas I have been in. They 
take far better care of their own dead than we do of ours, 
and on the Somme one frequently saw a splendidly made 
cross with "Hier ruht zwei franzosiche Soldaten"; never 
one to a Tommy. In several places I have seen really hand- 
some granite monuments put up. 

You can't get around it, the old Hun is an appalling 
fellow and it is going to take a long time to whack him. . . . 

I wrote to Spence last night. 

I don't expect to hear from you till I get to Blighty. 
Don't see how I can very well. 

May 2^th, 1917. 

I AM lying in bed out in a beautiful orchard and really 
the World does seem good. I didn't quite realize before how 
grateful I am that I am not "pushing up the daisies." Am 
doing splendidly. Every day the Doc goes over my chest 
and every day more of my left lung is clear and doing 
business. Breathing has become almost a pleasure. It may 
be some days yet before I get "down the line." When I 
get there I may be sent direct to England or I may be 
X-rayed and operated on there. It won't be a serious 
operation. If the shrapnel has gone very deep they won't 
operate; if it has only just penetrated it will be as simple 
as A. B.C. so I am not in the least "wind up." 

I am afraid you are having an anxious time, but I can't 
do anything except write. I haven't even got the money to 
telegraph with, as I lost my advanced Pay Book in the 
scrap and £100 in Cox's wouldn't be a bit of use. 

Would like to go to Oxford to Hospital. They tell me it 



296 LETTERS OF 

is likely I might be somewhere in the South, as they would 
hardly send a case like mine a long railway journey. 

25ih May, 1917. 

Dear Alice, 

I HAVE owed you a letter for some time, but the soldiering 
business has been distinctly "bullish" in tone the last two 
months. I am now having a bit of a rest cure, having tried 
to bounce a Boche grenade off my back and failed. In 
other words, several pieces of metal, once the property of a 
certain Miss Krupp, have now permanently taken up resi- 
dence in my left lung. But they seem well-behaved bits of 
shrapnel and personally I feel we shall get on quite well, at 
any rate I intend to take them to Blighty for a visit. We 
really had a splendid scrap Sunday, the 20th, and as you 
can see by the papers we made a howling success of it. It 
was a good old-fashioned brawl, as a heavy mist stopped all 
the side-shows and we certainly spoiled Fritz's morning 
for him. I hate most things in this War as much as any- 
body, particularly standing still and being shelled, but I 
must say I did enjoy that scrap. 

I hear you have been having a devil of a time with a 
Matron. It's a shame there isn't an open season every year 
on a certain type of aggressive female. 

I am told my wound is a "dead cert" Blighty one. I 
hope so. I want to be one thing or the other; on active 
service or in London, I don't fancy a rural convalescence. 

Regards, ^^^^ 

May 26th, 1917. 

Dear Mother, 

Still in the C.C.S., but only for a couple of days more. 
Still doing splendidly. I only hope they don't keep me long 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 297 

at the Base. It's all very well to say I am a certain Blighty, 
but with the submarine show on I shall feel safer when I 
get my orders to sail. Tell Dad he will have to hand over 
the Diamond Belt. There is a chap next me who has been 
gassed; well I know what a noise he makes and they say I 
drown him out completely when I get to sleep. 

Did I tell you that a chap here comes from Renfrew, 
Canada, and has been up to Lake St. Patrick via the Black 
River? ^ 

This is really a splendidly run place. "It isn't done" 
apparently in an officers' ward to show the least interest in 
the wounds and condition of any of your neighbors, and 
what a splendid thing it is too. 

1 seem to write very dull letters. I don't know why, for I 
feel very chippy. I do hope Astin has got to England, but 
I am afraid he hasn't. Poor old D. Coy. will about consist 
of two men and a boy. 

O.H.M.S. War Office, 
London, 3.25 p.m. May 29, 1917. 

C. Burton, 

Ritz Hotel, Piccadilly. 

2 Lt. C. Burton, Liverpool Regt. admitted at Red Cross 
Hospital Le Touquet May twenty-five with gunshot wound 
in back. Severe. Any further news will be sent. 

Secty, War Office. 

Duchess of Westminster'' s Hospital, 
No. I Red Cross, 
Le Touquet, May zgth, 1917. 

Just a line to tell you that I will be in England about the 
end of this week. Have been X-rayed and have many small 
splinters and two medium-sized ones scattered pretty 

^ In the vicinity of the Pontiac Game Club, P.Q. 



298 LETTERS OF 

well all over my left lung. My spine is uninjured and I am 
sitting up and turning about by myself and really feeling 
fine. In fact I am very much better than I have any right 
to be. Go to the Ritz and I will let you know where I am as 
soon as I arrive in England. Don't get wind up; there are 
several hundred thousand men in France sighing for a 
wound just like mine. More later. 

Love, 

Cap. 



Duchess of Westminster'' s Hospital, 
May 20th, 19 1 7. 

Dear Mother, 

I AM still doing splendidly. I must tell you at length 
of this amazing Hospital. It is the dernier cri in fanciness. 
There are more good-looking and thoroughly incompetent 
V.A.D. creations floating about here than ever were 
gathered under one roof before. Talk about what Alberta 
calls "atmosphere"! Well, it's so thick here that I think I 
should put on my gas helmet if I hadn't lost it. Most of 
these officers try to flirt all day long and seem to enjoy it. 
Personally five (that is the latest total according to the 
X-ray) bits of shrapnel in my lung rather dampen my ardor 
for this form of sport. I am as rude as I can be towards 
these sweet young things, but for some reason or other I 
seem to have developed a charm which has been conspicu- 
ous for its absence for nearly thirty years. It's pretty bad 
when you have to get shot in the lung before young ladies 
show any interest in you. I suspect the fact that I am a 
Yank has something to do with this. As the Ticker says, 
"Americans are booming," and I seem to be the first here. 
At any rate I shall go clean off my head if many more of 
these sweet things tuck my bedclothes in and mess about 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 299 

with my pillows. I sigh for Astin and the old bivouac 
sheet and peace. But finally my sense of humor has won 
out and I am really getting a lot of amusement out of the 
whole show. Honestly I couldn't stick it if I took the War 
as seriously as these Red Cross people. 

My doctor is the kind who has never been called Doc in 
his life. I am sure he is the most fashionable minor surgeon 
in Harley Street. But he's not going to open me up. He is 
the kind who would pick away for hours with all the latest 
instruments. No, if I have to have an operation I want 
some red-blooded fellow with the courage of his convictions 
to do it. But I don't think there will ever be an operation. 
The food, etc., is perfect. There is a regular barrage of 
Padres here. 

Just got your wire and have replied. A Field Cashier 
appeared yesterday with a special form for officers who 
have lost Advanced Pay Books ! 

Paris Plage. 

Burton, Rifz Hotels London. 

Wire received. Operation not necessary. Arrive Eng- 
land four five days time. Will wire Ritz on arrival final 
destination. Doing magnificently. Spine uninjured. 
Have money. 

Love. 

Burton. 

A note from Lt. Col. Beall, 4 King's Regt. to Father: 

United Service Club. 
June 3, 1917. 

I UNDERSTAND your boy is going on quite well. He was 

not very badly hit. He was doing very good work at the 

time and I can tell you in confidence that I have recom- 



3CO LETTERS OF 

mended him for the Military Cross, which I think he stands 
a good chance of getting. 

I am over on a few days' leave. 

I have just heard that he is arriving this eve, so you can 
tell him. 

Mother's account of Caspar reaching them. 

The Ritz, June 4, 191 7. 

Dear Spence, 

I can't go back of the emotions of yesterday, but that 
you must have. We went to Mass and then your Father 
felt so sure Caspar was on the way that he would not leave 
the house, so I went back to Grosvenor Chapel where I 
could be picked up at a moment's notice. John and Daisy 
came to lunch. Daisy in the same state of knowing Caspar 
was near (we had had a telegram Saturday saying, "Ex- 
pect me tomorrow") so she and your Father bombarded 
the War Office with telephones. At four o'clock Lady 
Agneta ^ arrived in a flutter to say Princess Christian had 
sent her to say she would like Caspar sent to her hospital 
where there was a bed. We had no time for Royal mes- 
sages, as a telegram was handed us from Caspar saying, 
"Arrive Charing Cross about five. Try see me." We dashed 
off. Crowds always for a hospital train. No chance of get- 
ting near. Your father went to telephone (I am sure I 
don't know where) and I walked up to an old guard and 
said, "I am an American who doesn't know the War Office 
orders. Can I see my wounded son?" "I'm afraid not. 
Madam. W.O. orders." " Who is the officer in command ? " 
That beloved man said, " I will nod to you when he passes." 
So when he did, your father and I went up to him with our 

^ The Lady Agneta Montagu. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 301 

telegram, and he was most courteous and cordial and said 
he would try and stop the ambulance that he was in so we 
might look in — could promise nothing, etc., but would 
tell us to what hospital he was to be sent — probably Lon- 
don. I said, "We have just had a message from Princess 
Christian hoping he could be sent to her hospital." He 
bowed and said, "I will see what can be done. Wait here." 
The motors began to come out, cheering crowds throwing 
flowers and cigarettes into them, the marvellous British 
Red Cross men and nurses moving as though by clock work 
and yet with love to help in every place. As each am- 
bulance passed your father said to the nurse in' charge, 
"2nd Lieut. Burton?" "Not here." Presently the CO. 
returned and said, "Please follow me," threw back the 
great platform gate, ushered us through, closed the gate, 
and Caspar lay on a stretcher at our feet. We just knelt 
down there by him and thanked God. He was as gay as 
possible. Looks worn, but truly not ill, and he had been 
travelling from 1 a.m. to 5 p.m. We had fifteen minutes 
there and he said they had been convoyed across by one 
British and one American ship. He saw his own flag for the 
first time as his protector. His escape was a miracle. The 
grenade hit his steel helmet. Broke through the rim and 
peppered his back entering the left lung in many places, 
but missing his spine by a quarter of an inch. Part of the 
bits of the helmet driven into the lung. The X-ray today 
will prove all that and see what can be done. No doubt 
he will recover. He is covered with a tetanus serum rash 
and practically nothing else!! Like Caspar, he turned up 
with nothing!! His clothes all torn off him and thrown 
away, his kit probably all lost. Bless him! He says Astin 
was superb. He had to kick him out of the fight after Astin 
was wounded. Then they lifted Caspar up and he said, 



302 LETTERS OF 

"Follow me to the London Hospital." I must tell you, 
when they landed, an orderly shouted "2nd Lieut. C. Bur- 
ton to be sent to Oxford by order of Sir William Osier"; 
but there was no train to Oxford. The surgeon in charge 
said, "You must not be moved again. You go to London"; 
and here he is! 

We dashed off to the London Hospital (across the world !) 
and saw him there for half an hour in an Officers' Ward. He 
told us of his fight — You must hear it from him ! ! They 
took that trench. Solid concrete tunnel. When he reached 
the Casualty Clearing Station it vfdiS full and he had to be 
driven thirty-five kilometers. You see the battle was so 
tremendous and it was there he had the orchard and be- 
loved old matron for seven days. We then went to see 
Mrs. Starr and to Agneta to send our (whatever you do 
send to Royalty!!) and tell our joy. When we got back 
here at eight o'clock Caspar's Colonel had been here and 
left a most kind note praising Caspar's work. 

It was the final touch and we were just the happiest 
people on earth. We cabled you somewhere en route. Now 
we have been to Church and your father is out buying pa- 
jamas, etc., and having the time of his life providing for his 
family again ! Life will be too short to repay our gratitude 
to God. 

Caspar is simply beloved and too witty for words. 

Dearest love, Mother. 

June 4. Later. 

Have spent two hours with Caspar. He seems well. The 
house surgeon says two weeks have done wonders. I never 
knew any one in my life so interesting. He talks of being 
up any day. Mrs. Lewis blew in. We all had tea as gaily 
as possible. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 303 

By this time cablegrams, letters and newspaper clip- 
pings from America began to inundate Caspar and our 
parents. One of these tributes to Caspar really adds to the 
picture of him. 

[Editorial from The Cincinnati Times Star, May 29, 191 7.] 
HE WENT BEFORE 

Caspar Burton of Cincinnati possessed prophetic vi- 
sion. When this Government was engaged in writing dip- 
lomatic notes, to which it received now and then unsatis- 
factory responses that would be violated a few days later 
by submarine warfare which seemed contemptuous of the 
word of Wilhelmstrasse, young Mr. Burton decided to go to 
war. He wished to be prepared when his country called 
him after its diplomatic resources had been exhausted, and 
he knew no better way of becoming prepared than by fight- 
ing with our future allies against the Kaiser. His first of- 
fensive against Germany was with a Harvard ambulance 
unit. That service being useful, but not sufficiently bellig- 
erent, Mr. Burton entered training in the British ofiicers' 
reserve. During the recent battle of Arras he received a 
wound from a hand grenade which pierced a lung. 

Mr. Burton is not the first Cincinnatian to be wounded 
in battle in France. Nor, of course, will he be the last. But 
he serves to remind us of the men who went before. They 
knew that eventually the die would be cast between junker- 
dom and this country. They saw distinctly the issue this 
world war involved. And their passion for the great prin- 
ciples that underlie free government was sufficient to cause 
them to throw themselves into the breach before time and 
many words had fashioned a definite issue between the 
United States and Germany. 

The men who went before! Worthy harbingers of the 



304 LETTERS OF 

men who will follow them! It is an axiom that trade fol- 
lows the flag. But the flag follows those who, like Caspar 
Burton, recognized Armageddon and sought the great sac- 
rifice in the very forefront of battle. 



The London Hospital, 

June 14th, 1917. 

Dear Spence, 

Just a line to let you know how I am getting on. I am 
doing splendidly. I am really out of all danger and am not 
of the least interest to anybody medically. So kindly cease 
praying for my physical well-being until I issue a further 
communique. It is just a question of time before I am fit to 
go out again, but I am offering odds that I get out again 
before October and I want gently but firmly to heave a 
grenade into the midst of at least one little Teutonic gath- 
ering before it is all over. 

It has been a great pleasure watching Mother and Father 
blossom out, as they sure had "wind up" about me. But 
they look like two different human beings already. 

I can't seem to get up any interest in the War here in 
hospital, and wounded people bore me to tears; in fact we 
all bore each other, and the War is scarcely mentioned. 

I shall certainly transfer to the American Army at the 
first opportunity, but oh, how I hate deliberately running 
into miles of red-tape. I think the great trouble is going to 
be to get the U.S.A. Medical Corps to pass me as fit even 
after I am passed for General Service here, but by means of 
a barrage of lies and wholesale destruction of X-ray plates 
I may be able to pull it off. 

"Say, feller!" With you I say, Vive la France, etc., but 
for goodness sake give us credit for doing some of the things 
that every Frenchman gives us credit for. In the words of 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 305 

the poet Bud Fisher, "Be reasonable, Mutt, be reason- 
able." As to your remarks about the late Mr. Casement, I 
would like to refer you to the rank and file of a certain 
famous Irish Catholic Regiment I know; but I would ad- 
vise you before repeating any of your remarks about said 
gentleman to dig yourself well in and put up plenty of wire 
unless you were particularly keen on doing a "little Eva" 
tableau. Few Irishmen like England, but all the best Irish- 
men have more or less pigeonholed this matter until the 
Hun is settled with, and believe me, when the real lads get 
back, black eyes are going to be the fashion in Sinn Fein 
circles. 

If you would like my advice on the chaplain question let 
me know and I will promise you a sixteen-page essay on the 
subject.^ 

Would like to meet your household. 

Love, 

Cap. 

The barrage of lies, to which he refers, was successfully 
pulled off by him; as for the X-ray plates of his lung they 
were smashed on the trip from the London Hospital to 
the Princess Christian's Hospital. There he improved so 
quickly that further photographs were not taken. Had 
those first plates not been broken he would probably never 
have been accepted for active service in the American 
Army and so have been alive today. Caspar never re- 
gretted that they were smashed or that his barrage of 
lies was effective. He was determined to "get on with the 
War." 

The following letters from Mother tell of Caspar in hos- 
pital: 

^ This essay was urgently requested, but never written. 



3o6 LETTERS OF 

12 Bruton Street, London, 

June i6, 191 7. 

Dear Mary,^ 

I haven't the vaguest idea what I have written you or 
other people, but I have given, I know, no idea of all Cas- 
par went through. He loved it at the London Hospital, it 
was so perfectly professional. Even in the fearful air raid 
everything went on as usual, although one bomb fell 170 
yards from Caspar. When we got there the dead and 
wounded were being carried in, but no excitement there. 
The King and several million other people all rushed to the 
East End as we did. It looked like a public fete day. Chil- 
dren hunting for bits of shrapnel. No one is afraid, but 
every one angry that the poorest part of London should 
have to suffer like that. 

Through Lady Agneta Montagu, George's mother. Prin- 
cess Christian heard of Caspar's bombing attack and said a 
bed in her hospital would wait for him until he wanted it. 
I think she wanted to show that honor because he is an 
American. Caspar knew he wouldn't stay long at the Lon- 
don, but was surprised when they told him that by Royal 
Command an ambulancewas at the door to take him to her 
hospital. 

It is a huge palace some one has loaned her for the war, 
and Caspar says simply perfect. He has a bed in a room 
with five other officers and sits up every day. The rules are 
rather strict as to visitors, but he will soon be out and then 
in a moment be any place he wants to be. The doctors can 
form no guess as to how long it will take to get well, but that 
is a detail when you hear he will get well. All the small 
splinters they say the lung will take care of in a very short 
time. It is the two big, sharp pieces that will take time. . . . 

^ Mrs. Robert Mitchell Burton, of Cincinnati. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 307 

I wonder if I have written you a dozen times that his 
Colonel had six days' leave and gave one evening to us. He 
took knives and forks at dinner, explained the attack and 
said, "Your son did conspicuously good work." . . . 

There was a bit of the Hindenburg Line that they had 
to take, a concrete tunnel running under the trench. The 
British and German troops were in the same trench, the 
Germans having built a barricade in this trench. This the 
British blew up and Caspar led the attack down the trench. 
Many officers volunteered, as he did, and he was chosen 
and allowed to ask for twenty-one volunteers. Forty vol- 
unteered to serve under him, from whom he picked his 
twenty-one men. Other platoons were directly behind 
them. Twenty out of Caspar's lot were killed or wounded. 
Men who came after them had it hard. Lieut. Robinson, 
who took Caspar's place, was killed and has been recom- 
mended for the V.C. Every hour this goes on. Some one's 
time comes, but Caspar says the spirit of the Allied troops 
— he had been all winter next the French troops — is su- 
perb and the Germans are either fighting like devils or giv- 
ing up in crowds. He talks to us by the hour and I wish I 
had the sense to take it all down, for he is so intelligent and 
amusing and seldom speaks of the horror of it all. 

Caspar was allowed to go out for the first time on June 
the twenty-second. 

June 24, 1917. 
Almond's Hotel, 

Clifford Street, 
Bo7id Street, W. 

Dear Spence, 

Sunday afternoon and Dr. and Mrs. Starr, your father 

and Caspar, are playing bridge. . . . 



3o8 LETTERS OF 

He looks perfectly" well] and says if it wasn't for X-rays 
no one would know he wasn't well. In fact the verdict of 
the doctors is, "far better than you have any right to be." 
We walked for an hour this morning. Your father, Emily 
and I had been to Mass when Caspar walked in. He has 
been moved from 6 Grosvenor Place to an annex of Prin- 
cess Christian's Hospital at Queen's Gate where he will 
have more liberty and only be under observation. He says 
this is a beautiful house run by a charming lady, all the 
officers taking their meals in mess, a beautiful library, one 
head nurse, a few V.A.D.'s who do the work and the doc- 
tors visiting twice a week. I hope he may have several 
weeks there, but there is no knowing, they move him so 
often. . . . 

Today Caspar was with Berta for luncheon. Poor Faith 
had arrived all enthusiasm to see him bloody and heroic. 
Instead he was dressed and well. He says she lost all in- 
terest at once. We talk by the hour. Caspar begged me to 
find a Mass where he can go, not too early, so I will and we 
can all go together this week. The joy of it! 

On July 3 Caspar was discharged from the Princess 
Christian's Convalescent Home and given three weeks' 
leave. 

Ritz Hotel, 

Piccadilly, London W. 

July i8th, 1 91 7. 

Dear Spence, 

After worrying myself nearly to death for some time, 
I have finally come to a definite conclusion. I feel very 
strongly that now my own country is in the war, my real 
place is with her, but I do not want to procure my discharge 
from the British Army until I am sure there is a commis- 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 309 

sion in the American Army waiting for me. You see, did I 
do this, I would simply be a civilian looking for work in the 
States, and at a time like this, I do not fancy the prospect. 
Can you by any possible chance either assure me of a defi- 
nite job in the United States Army (that is, a commission) 
or would it be possible for me, while still holding my British 
commission, to be attached to some unit over there? 

The British are most courteous; the trouble is at home. 
Anybody who wants me over there can have me. The 
British are willing to do anything for an American in their 
Army these days. I leave the ways and means entirely to 
your discretion. I am reporting for duty on the 24th of 
July, and fully expect to be whipped out to France again 
in six weeks to two months. I shall carry on with this pro- 
gramme unless I hear to the contrary, but I must say my 
heart is not in the work as it once was. 

I would suggest seeing President Roosevelt about this, 
but you know best. These are the facts of the case. Do 
your best, as I know you will, but I shall not be in the least 
broken-hearted if I finish the war where I am, only I feel 
that I really must make some effort to get under my own 
flag. Lovingly, 

Caspar. 

His hospital leave was over and he was ordered to Regi- 
mental Headquarters. 

Pembroke Dock, 

^rd Batt. The King's Regt. 

Sunday, July 29, 1917. 

Dear Mother, 

I KNOW nothing more than when I left London. I have 
not been boarded ^ yet. I may be boarded any day and I 
may not be boarded for weeks. All I can say is that all the 

* Examination by an Army Medical Board. 



3IO LETTERS OF 

signs point to my being here in this spot for the next jfifty 
years. 

I combed out P.D. There is nothing here. Absolutely 
nothing. As a learned inhabitant said to me, " You might 
say, sir, as how there's several families living in every 
house here already." 

I went to Pembroke and had better luck. The Lion 
Hotel there is not impossible and I believe there may be a 
chance of your getting a really charming little house there. 
At any rate, I advise your going there and having a look 
round. 

Read the words of "All dressed up and nowhere to go" 
and you get my mental attitude. 

There is absolutely no work for me to do. 

Pembroke Dock, 

2,rd. Batt. The King's Regt. 

August 2, 1917. 

Just when things seemed darkest and I was very blue 
indeed the "fairy godmother" Department got busy. I 
have just been told that I have been selected to go on a 
"Pioneer Course" at Reading, which lasts eight weeks. It 
seems like being a traitor to the Infantry to be even tem- 
porarily connected with the R.E. Also I shall be more or 
less a dud at it, I fear, but still Reading is not P.D.; I can 
get well there better than here and I suppose I am bound 
to pick up a lot of useful stuff. The only other fellow going 
from here is a young Lamont, a cousin of Lord Guthrie's, 
and just about the most attractive lad I know anywhere. 
Curiously enough he got hit just the way I did and has bits 
of tin hat in the back of his neck. So really the sun shines 
on P.D. this evening. 

I am on a bombing course here, but would not have been 
able to go to the Western Command school of bombing at 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 311 

Frees Heath (which would have been the natural sequence 
of things) because I find that I can't let myself out throw- 
ing. I can just lob them over easily. I find I can do prac- 
tically anything unless there is a sudden jerk of any sort; 
if there is it "brings me up standing" every time. Well, 
many a time and oft have I watched our noble R.E.'s at 
play and I never saw them do anything sudden yet. Oh, 
so prettily and easily they gambol about. 

So make your own plans irrespective of me until I get 
fixed at Reading. 

I have cancelled the order for rooms at The Lion. My 
kit has turned up. 

I won't have a Medical Board until I get back here. 

Pembroke Dock, 
Llanion Barracks, T,rd King's, 
Jug. 12, 1917. 

I JUST got your wire and have answered it. As far as 
I know I am still going to Reading on the 15th. In other 
words, I have come out in orders and unless I should fall 
down and break my leg or something I will be there on that 
date. If you want to see me for anything come down there 
on Wednesday or Thursday and I will dine with you. I 
would rather not have you settle down there for four or 
five days until I shake down. 

I have been touring the provinces. I took a draft of 
crocks to Oswestry, got back here two days' travelling, 
grabbed a few hours' sleep, and off I went again to Heaton 
Park in the suburbs of Manchester and brought a draft 
here. All night, and for that matter all day, railway jour- 
neys in Great Britain at the present time are hardly "joy 
rides," but they beat doing nothing here. 

I am told that this course is very good, but that it is very 
difficult to get to London at all. We shall see. 



312 LETTERS OF 

Don't see how I can see Campbell much as I should love 
to. Do you know Sonning, just a couple of miles from 
Reading, where there is a delightful little inn? Also an 
excellent golf course and quite an American colony. 

Father and Mother took a house at Sonning, The Little 
Deanery, for two months. Caspar arrived at five o'clock 
each day and stayed until ten. He seemed very tired. On 
September 19 Caspar was operated upon at the Reading 
Military Hospital. Lead and copper were taken out of his 
back. The "junk" had moved in his back and some of it 
was taken out nine or ten inches from where it went in. 
Caspar had great difficulty in breathing all this time. 

He was discharged from the hospital October 4, with 
seven days' hospital leave, and went that day to London. 

Riiz Hotel, 

Piccadilly, London W. 

October 8th, 191 7. 

Dear Spence, 

I HAVE been thinking about writing you several days 
since reading your letter to Mother. I want you to under- 
stand that I do not feel in the least critical of your atti- 
tude, but I do feel very very strongly that you are making 
a big blunder. 

As you know, it is not my usual policy to meddle in 
something which I suppose is really none of my business. 
I quite realize all of your arguments about tradition and so 
forth, but this is where I think you are making your mis- 
take. This war is not in the least like any former war, and 
consequently I don't think that the opinion of learned and 
saintly men of past generations applies at all at the present 
time. I understand that the Bishop of London has always 
given permission to enlist. It is not that I feel in the least 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 313 

that the few people under you at the present time are in 
the least needed, but I do think you will be doing your 
work a lot of harm in the long run if you don't do all in 
your power to encourage them to get into active service. 

When I was in the Red Cross, attached to the French 
Army in France, I saw what wonderful work the priests 
were doing there. Had you seen the contrast between 
them and our own chaplains, you would feel as I do. 
Mind you, I don't blame our Church in the least. I think 
they do all they are allowed to do; but they have lost a 
great opportunity. If your men are medically fit, send 
them into a combatant force, but not in the Red Cross or 
any similar organization. I feel that this sort of thing can 
be done by the unfit quite well. 

You have been so remarkable in never criticising me, 
that I hate to say anything that you might take to be crit- 
icising you. It is simply that I think you can't realize at 
such a distance what this war is like in the least, and if 
possible I would like to prevent your making such a great 
mistake. 

I can't tell you how grateful I am for all you have done 
for me at this time. I now think that I shall get permission 
from the War Office to go to France and see Pershing, 
backed up by several very good letters. I hope I shall be 
able to transfer to the American Expeditionary Force, but 
if I can't, I will at least have done all I could, and I shan't 
worry about things if I fail. 

Give my love to everybody in Boston, and keep much 
for yourself. 

Cap. 

Before receiving this letter the novices of the American 
Province of the Society of St. John the Evangelist who had 



314 LETTERS OF 

entered the Army were in the Medical Corps. After this 
those who were medically fit went into the Artillery and 
the Infantry. 

Before Caspar left London for Pembroke Dock on Octo- 
ber 1 2 he wrote to Col. Beall, asking to be returned to the 
4th King's at the Front. 

Pembroke Dock, 
Cocheton, Oct. 18, 1917. 

Dear Mother, 

Of course go to Alberta. I am quite happy here. We are 
way off in the country three miles from P.D. and two 
from Pembroke. It is lovely country and the mess is very 
small and the chaps are very nice; all of them wounded. 
We have about three hundred men here, all of the wounded, 
etc., and it is really a place just to get the crocks fit again. 
I may tell you that I delivered a speech about America to 
them which was greeted with cheers. 

Lashmar is here and it is good fun seeing him again. He 
had a map of the Ypres district, and long before the 33rd 
were in he spotted Polygon Wood and said, "That looks 
like the place Pinney will volunteer to take." And sure 
enough after three divisions had failed we got and held the 
whole place. 

Lash told me a priceless tale which he has just heard 
about Astin. The whole Division was on the move. Astin 
was left behind. They marched all day and everybody, 
including Beall, thought they were going to another part 
of the line. Astin didn't turn up and Bangham was very 
nervous about him. In the morning they went back to 
exactly their old billets and found that Astin was there 
and had breakfast ready for them. He said, "Oh, I heard 
you was a-comin' back again so I didn't trouble to follow 



on 



III 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 315 

We have a big show on here Monday night; sorry you 
can't be here. I had dinner at The Lion. The food is really 
good, but it is very dreary and doesn't look clean. 

Pembroke Dock, Oct. i8, 1917. 
Burton, 

Hinchingbrooke^ Huntingdon. 

Ordered go Fermoy Ireland tomorrow. No details 

yet. Will wire. 

Caspar. 

Fermoy, Oct. 20, 191 7. 
Burton, 

Hinchingbrooke, Huntingdon. 
Royal Hotel. Good. Address 217 Infantry Battn. 

Place delightful. 

Caspar. 

ziyth Infantry Battalion, 
Fermoy, Sunday, Oct. 1917. 
Dear Mother, 

I have no more idea why I was sent here than you have 
except that they needed a few officers and three of us came 
over. We are in Barracks; it is a Battalion for training lads 
who are called out when they reach eighteen and without 
exception they are the smartest soldiers I have seen in the 
New Army. It is like a breath of fresh air to get amongst 
a lot of men who are not war-worn. The officers come 
from pretty well every regiment. It is, of course, not a 
permanent thing for me, as I will go out from here as soon 
as I am marked G.S. The CO. is delightful. 

This is more Irish than I thought anything could ever 
be. To me it is fascinating and I think you would enjoy 
it. It seems queer to be living in a free country again; and 



3i6 LETTERS OF 

as near as I can make out there are no restrictions of any 
sort. 

The Royal Hotel, I believe, is perfectly possible. If not 
you could get lodgings, I am sure. Tell Dad it is a great 
fishing place. Yesterday was market day; every woman 
looked like Ellen ! ^ 

This is all I can tell you now. 

Love, 

Cap. 

Father and Mother arrived at Fermoy, County Cork, 
October 27, and left there November 27, to go to London 
to attend to the matter of his transfer to the American 
Army. 

New Barracks, Fermoy, Co. Cork, 
Saturday, Nov. 30, 1917. 

Dear Mother, 

You certainly had a close shave! ^ I wonder did you 
know about it while crossing. Get somebody's opinion 
about it who knows, but a night crossing certainly seems 
safer to me. 

I couldn't get off in time to hunt Wednesday. I played 
cards with the three McDonald ^ children. They are a joy. 
Mrs. McDonald asked me to stay on for dinner, which I 
did. All your letters have been forwarded on. . . . 

I rode a bit yesterday and shall hunt tomorrow if a bad 
storm now on lets up. 

Give my love to everybody. 

1 Ellen Powers was an old family servant, from Ireland. 

2 Father and Mother crossed from Kingston to Holyhead November 28. A 
liner from South Africa was torpedoed just ahead of their boat. 

' The children of Col. and Mrs. Charles McDonald, Irish friends. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 317 

Royal Hotel, Fermoy, 
Dec. I, 1917, Sunday. 

I GOT yours and Father's letters, also one from Ned 
Bell. . . . There was no hunt today, but I have just come 
in from a glorious ride. I came a beautiful cropper over a 
nasty bank; both horse and I went down in a bunch, but 
neither of us was touched. On Wednesday the meet is at 
Castle Hyde, so I will be able to go. In fact the CO. has 
already given me permission. I have a Medical Board to- 
morrow and will wire you the result of it. 

Fermoy, Dec. 3, 191 7. 
Burton, 

Ritz Hotely London. 

Passed general service. 

Royal Hotel, Fermoy, 
Dec. 4, 1917. 

I AM hunting tomorrow, riding a little chestnut that 
Father saw me on one day. The meet is at Paddy's Cross- 
road, not at Castle Hyde. I believe two ladies are riding. 

I went before the Adjutant and asked what were my 
chances of being sent to France now that I am G.S. He 
told me the CO. had powers to keep G.S. officers for eight 
months, and in my case he did not think that even if I made 
a written application to go to France it would be accepted 
unless another wiring officer ^ turned up. 

I am very depressed at the War news. 

Fermoy, Dec. 5, 19 1 7. 

Just back fromamost glorious run. We killed after about 
a ten-mile run over by Ballyhooly. Broderick was M.F.H. 
and I should think did his job excellently. Matty took a 

^ Caspar was instructor in wiring. 



3i8 LETTERS OF 

jump that I would have sworn was an impossibility for 
anything. There was a very pretty girl out, who I think is 
the finest rider I have ever seen on a side-saddle, but I 
didn't manage to meet her. A few more runs and I shall be 
able to ride with these people. But really at present I 
think I am the worst of the lot. I got pretty well out in 
front at one stage of the game and was so excited that I 
tackled something which was a bit over my depth and I 
landed bang on the horse's neck. Only luck kept me from 
coming a beastly cropper. The Duhallows are meeting 
Sunday at Castletown Roche and I am trying to get per- 
mission to go with them. 

There is a great rumor afloat that we are going to Cam- 
bridge. It is much hotter than the last time and I really 
think there may be something in it. 

Last evening in the Royal the Recruiting Sergeant 
brought in one James Cooney and I stood there in the 
billiard room and read out the oath of allegiance to King 
George the Fifth. Some War this! I gave the poor lad, 
who was in rags, five bob, and I thought he was going to 
embrace me on the spot. 

Give my love to all the Montagus. . . . 

Love, 

Cap. 

I overdid it with the McDonald children; they think 
they own me. 

Royal Hotel, Fermoy, 

Tuesday, Dec. ii, 1917. 

Nothing very new here. The CO. still away. The 
ground is all frozen, so there will be no hunt tomorrow. 

I went on Sunday with Gibbons to a party at a farmer's 
at Conna about nine miles from here and had a glorious 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 319 

time. The charm of these people is that they have never 
stopped to think what class they belong to nor do they 
stop to think where you belong. I am going to take you 
out to the Cronins' farm when you get back. Three officers 
have just gone from Moore Park to America to instruct. 
I couldn't get away on Sunday to hunt. 

The following letter from Mother to me tells of meeting 
Caspar in Dublin on December 18 and of Caspar signing 
his application papers before the American Consul to 
transfer to the American Army. 

On December 19 Father, Mother and he all returned to 
Fermoy. 

The Royal Hotel, 

Fermoy, Co. Cork, Ireland, 

Christmas Eve, 19 17. 

Dear Spence, 

Caspar arrived in Dublin with three other officers. 
They had brought a big draft of men to the steamer. Then 
we heard the clever way in which Caspar had reached us by 
a note. The telegraph and telephone wires were all down. 
He found a travelling salesman who was going to Mallow. 
The Dublin train passed that way and he got the man to fee 
the guard to take it to Dublin and give it to a messenger. 
He left the note open, knowing the Irish mind, and told 
your Father in the note to pay the bearer five bob. A cab- 
man delivered the note at 5 a.m, and demanded five bob 
before he would give up the note, so he must have read the 
note. We got it and he his money. As one of the officers 
said, "If Burton was Lieutenant Governor he could 
govern Ireland." ... 

The next day Caspar took all his solemn oaths before 
our Consul and sent his papers off. 



320 LETTERS OF 

Father and Mother left Fermoy on January 7 and re- 
turned to London to work for Caspar's transfer to our 
Army. 

Fermoy, Sunday, 

{Early Jan. 1918.) 

Dear Father, 

Thanks! I will do nothing until I get orders. I don't 
really see how I could. I had a rotten time in Cork, as they 
worked us pretty hard; made us sit one hour in a gas 
chamber, etc. I bought a Kerry blue bitch there from 
Father Cronin that is the most attractive dog I have ever 
seen. You will fall in love with her. I am also getting a dog ^ 
from Lewis ^ tomorrow, so I will be able to breed. If 
George's keeper can't look after them for me I will get 
Mr. Leigh to. 

Here is the best yet. Father Cronin said to me yester- 
day night, "Faith, I'm a priest, a damned bad one, but 
still I try to do my work, but to tell you the honest truth at 
heart I 'm a horsedealer." He has got a little mare that is 
the finest horse I have ever seen or ridden. 

I saw the Adjutant of the 3rd King's, and today I fixed 
it up with our M.O. about papers saying I am G.S. 

I was just coming down that brute of a hill in Cork when 
I met Miss O'Conner ^ almost carrying an old lady up the 
hill. The old lady, who was a total stranger, had fainted. 

^ This is "Mick," who, like his master, was killed by an unknown enemy. 
Jan. 21, 1921. 

^ W, Lewis, Esq., Inspector of the Royal Irish Constabulary for County Cork, 
writes, "Poor Caspar was beloved of all with whom he came in contact and his 
early, but glorious death, is sincerely and sorrowfully felt by all his friends over 
here, but by none so acutely as Miss O'Conner and her girls at the Hotel. Father 
Cronin was also shocked at the sad intelligence and all have offered up prayers for 
the repose of his soul. Personally I feel he is happy, for his life was spent trying 
to make others so. I was pleased to hear Mick acted his part well as indeed I ex- 
pected he would. He is a faithful brute." 

* The proprietress of the Royal Hotel. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 321 

As a result of my becoming a dog-fancier I shall need 
some more money soon. Please put twenty pounds in Cox's. 

The Duhallow are meeting at Lord Listowel's Saturday 
and the CO. has given me permission to go. 

The other day the General inspected E. Coy. at work. 
When he came up to my squad he said, "Well, I under- 
stand you don't know what Army you belong to." After 
he had watched my squad at work he said to the Colonel, 
"You might tell Burton to get his hair cut before he goes to 
the American Army." He also handed in a very good re- 
port of the work. 

Caspar joined Father and Mother in London on Jan- 
uary 26. He had been given "leave until gazetted out of 
the British Army." The following letter from Mother tells 
of Cap's arrival at the Ritz with a game hip and a fighting 
terrier. 

Ritz Hotel, London, W. 

January 29, 19 18. 

Dearest Spence, 

Sunday morning Caspar arrived, his face gray with pain. 
He has broken, or rather torn, a muscle in his hip. How he 
took that trip I don't know, but he did and brought a dog 
with him! Mick, a "Kerry blue" sporting dog. Such a 
delightful Irish country dog at the Ritz! We don't always 
have what we need to eat and now a dog! However, we be- 
haved like trumps and welcomed them both. Even with 
his bad hip Caspar looks splendidly and I do remember he 
left one dog in Ireland, so I can count my blessings. He is 
in bed and must just lie low until he is well. It is provok- 
ing and very painful. Such a time to be thrown! It hap- 
pened a week ago. His horse turned a somersault instead of 



322 CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 

jumping a bank. Caspar had to ride back nine miles in 
this condition. 

When he left Fermoy half the inhabitants came to see 
him off. The priest from Mitchelstown, ten miles off, rode 
over. His Colonel had given him permission to hunt, so 
they were all fond of him. But isn't it provoking? Will 
the U.S.A. wait or pass him? He can't go into a military 
hospital because then it would take weeks to get "boarded," 
etc. I am at least having the fun of his being here, and it is 
fun, for in spite of his pain and annoyance at spending his 
leave in bed he is delightful. . . . 

We had a terrible air raid, but they are so impersonal I 
can't get up any fear. We heard all the guns at close quar- 
ters. What a curious sensation to be in a luxurious room 
and have a battle raging outside! Caspar couldn't get up, 
or didn't think it necessary. He was interesting, for he 
could tell all the different guns, our machine guns and 
Lewis guns on our aeroplanes, our big guns and the thud of 
the German bombs. None dropped very near here. ... At 
10.30 we thought it was over so I went to bed, but at 12 
the guns began. Caspar and I stayed where we were and 
talked from our adjoining rooms. The reports have just 
come and it was bad. 

On February 15, 191 8, Caspar was gazetted out of the 
British Army. 



IV 

THE A.E.F. 
London, France, U.S.A. 

On February i6, 1918, Caspar took his examinations for 
the American Army, and on March 6 he received notice 
that he was commissioned ist lieutenant. On March 17 
he went to France to report to American Military Head- 
quarters. 

Paris, March 28th, 191 8. 
Dear Mother, 

I AM in Paris only for twenty-four hours on my way to a 
new job. I had a most interesting time at my last place. 
. . . My mind is so full of the big scrap that I cannot think 
of anything else. 

I told the authorities that I knew the ground around the 
Somme very well, but they are sending me in another di- 
rection. . . . Don't let Mick be a nuisance. Get rid of him 
if you must, although I hate to lose him. 
Saw Hoyte,^ looking beautiful. 

Love, 

Cap. 

^ Miss Mary Hoyt Wiborg. She writes: "I had Caspar constantly in my 
thoughts all day, almost as if I had been sitting in the room with him. Father 
came in with a telegram, and I knew what had happened, that Caspar had 
marched on across the river to join the other goodly Company. 

" For him it is relief and the terrible strain and struggle over — he will find so 
many comrades that have gone before and follow out the epic that he has always 
striven to attain. I envy him his very great achievements of a life well spent, and 
carrying before him a light of faith and right that has never failed. . . . 

" I only hope and pray that you and Mr. Burton will find the courage to bear 
through his leaving you, and the loneliness and grief of these terrible days. Your 
pride, though, in him and what he would have wanted in you, will help you not to 



324 LETTERS OF 

Jpril $th, 191 8. 

I JUST got back from a long motor trip and had a most in- 
teresting day. I would love to be able to tell you what I 
saw, but can't even hint. 

I had a long talk with Col. Bacon. ^ He is a wonder, and 
I hope I have somebody who is interested in me. 

I heard a good tale about two negro soldiers. An old 
soldier was explaining to a new recruit about officers. He 
said, "Well, look y'hear, it's this a-way; a Lootenant he 
knows nufin and does eberything, a Captain he knows 
ebery thing and does nufin; a Major he knows nufin and 
does nufin." 

I think I can answer a few questions now. 

(i) I think it will be just as easy to get leave to go to 
London as to Paris. 

(2) I don't think there is any chance of leave for a great 
many months — say six. 

(3) I see no chance of getting wounded. 

(4) If I were wounded I wouldn't get anywhere near 
Paris. 

(5) Anything which Americans in London may tell you 
about the A.E.F. does not apply to me at present. 

No time for more, very tired. 

April yth, 191 8. 
I AM finally in a place where I can write you and will 
now get a letter off every day if possible. I cannot tell you 
where I have been, but I have really made a pretty com- 
plete tour of France through mistaken orders. When I left 
Paris for my present billet everything pointed to the fact 

grieve, but to share with him the glory of his sacrifice. Caspar could not have 
lived on through the years; — he had lived too much already to value time, and 
his life, though short, was complete in its lesson — more he could not want." 
* Col. Robert Bacon, formerly American Ambassador to France. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 325 

that I was to get right into the scrap, but I will say that 
if I hold my present job I shall probably live to be ninety- 
two at least. I can't apparently tell you anything about it 
and there is no use asking any question^ as I could not an- 
swer it and it might even cause trouble. My work prom- 
ises to be hard, valuable, interesting and peculiarly safe; 
but things in the American Army are changing so rapidly 
that what is true today may not be true tomorrow. 

Who do you think I had to report to? Major Quecke- 
meyer, Ned Bell's friend, who got me my transfer from the 
British Army, and his Chief, Col. Robert Bacon!! I am 
not actually with them now, but my Chief is in pretty 
close touch with them. 

I never had so much I really wanted to write about in 
my life, but upon my word, they have got me bluffed. As 
near as I can make out I really can say nothing at all. I 
apparently can't express any opinion about the war, or our 
Army or any other army, or in fact anything at all. 

We are in the nicest French town I have ever been in, 
and I have a perfectly splendid billet and an office!!! You 
may see breakers ahead there, and probably there are, but 
I have a splendid Sergeant, a telephone and a Field Clerk 
with filing (I don't even know how to spell it) systems. Do 
you know, I believe this office stuff isn't so appallingly dif- 
ficult after all, if you don't have to file things, and keep 
little books, records, etc., yourself. Besides I can dictate 
letters with great gusto. Already I enjoy saying, "Let me 
see the correspondence on this matter." And in some mys- 
terious way the correspondence appears. After this it isn't 
so difficult to do the rest. 

There is only one trouble with our Army. ^ ap- 
parently has about 50,000 brothers and they are all well up 

* A pompous city official. 



3^6 LETTERS OF 

in our Army. The men, N.C.O.'s and junior officers, are 
simply gorgeous. Both spirit and discipline are splendid. 
We have got a splendid mess here and we certainly live 
like kings, although these poor boobs don't seem to know it. 

April gth, 191 8. 

There is a young fellow named Ewen MacVeagh ^ here 
who knows the Montagus. . . . He got here by a curious 
mistake. He was in the same battery with Jack.^ They 
meant to send Jack here for the same reason they sent me, 
but got them mixed up and sent him instead, at which he 
is very sore. He is really delightful; very young, but very 
competent. I am really getting to like everybody here very 
much. 

I do hope Campbell is back. That man I feel has really 
got to live through this show somehow or other. 

I am curious to get the latest communiques from the 
Cassington front. I expect Mick has by now killed all the 
dogs in Cassington. I wish I had him here. . . . 

1 am very optimistic over the war situation. 

April loth, 191 8. 

It is hard to write about matters of no importance with 
such big things going on, especially when the continual 
noise of the guns goes on. It is a great crisis, but I am su- 
premely confident. That is all I can say. 

One thing I can vouch for, the American troops get on 
marvellously with both the French and British. And the 
way the men are studying and really learning to speak 

^ Ewen C. MacVeagh, Harvard, '18, became captain, F.A., A.E.F. He writes, 
"I shall miss Caspar greatly both as a friend and as a man that I admired, espe- 
cially for the part he took in the War before this country came in." 

2 John H. MacVeagh, Royal Field Artillery. Croix de Guerre. Transferred to 
the A.E.F. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 327 

French is wonderful. Even If the brains of France and 
England are disappointed with us the common soldier is 
going to make a real alliance. Gertrude ^ started at the 
wrong end; it doesn't do any good for the politicians of two 
nations to "get on." My greatest hope, which seems every 
day nearer, is that if only we can polish off the Hun, a real 
alHance, built on the solid foundation of a real understand- 
ing and appreciation of each other by the people of the 
Allies, will be a reality. 

Jpril nth, 1918. 

Nothing new except things which I may not write 
about. I feel such an ass writing such stupid notes, but 
really it is impossible to write about trifles with such big 
things going on. . . . 

With all the difl^erent jobs I had in the British Army I 
always had to deal primarily with the human factor. Here 
that is of secondary importance, comparatively speaking. 
I miss it. 

I don't see that I will ever get promotion here, as with 
two or three exceptions all the officers here are Regulars 
and the distinction between Army men and new Army is far 
greater than it was with the British. Still I am not losing 
much sleep over that. 

Our mess is really excellent and very good fun. Fortu- 
nately we are so situated that I don't think the Y.M.C.A. 
crowd can get at us. The worst of it is they have real 

1 Mrs. Leverton Harris had " at homes " for Americans in London to meet dis- 
tinguished English people. She writes from Small Downs House, Sandwich, 
where Caspar was often her guest: "This place is so connected with Caspar, and 
you know how he appealed to me always. A hundred memories crowd back in on 
me. One of the things that comes so often is what a friend our England loses in 
him, in America just now when she needs friends there! He was so gallant him- 
self, and his point of view about the War so sane and fine that he could talk with 
the power that carried conviction of the qualities that he knew." 



328 LETTERS OF 

power in our Army. There was a guy at who went 

everywhere. He gave lectures, being billed as "The Mon- 
tana Sky Pilot." And they are killing good men by the 
thousands and the likes of him are writing and lecturing 
about their experiences at the "Front." 

April I2th, 1918. 

If I was allowed to tell you what my job was I don't 
know where I would begin. Do you remember some car- 
toons which always ended up, "Let George do it"? Well, 
I'm George. Every old odds and ends that turns up I 
get handed on to me, so that I never do the same thing 
twice. 

Jpril iJ[th, 1918. 

I AM Still so busy that I don't get time to write much. I 
hear that some new officers are due and in that case things 
will ease up a bit. 

We had the gentle Hun over last night, but he didn't 
do very much damage. 

I have been off all day in a side-car and have seen about 
"umpteen " personages about very trivial matters. Rather 
a disgusting way of spending one's time at a crisis like this, 
but I have volunteered for really active service and got 
turned down, so there you are. 

I am very anxious to hear whether Campbell is back. 
I do hope he is, but I "hae me doots." 

By this time you should surely be getting my letters, 
but when I will get any, goodness knows. Lots of people 
have got no mail for three or four months. Really the times 
are a bit too grim even to try to write an amusing letter. 
But I am still confident. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 329 

I wish I had Mick here, but I would never have been able 
to manage it. 

April i^th, 191 8. 

I AM off ^ tomorrow on a job which may take me any- 
where from five days to five months. All I can tell you is 
that it is "umpteen" miles from here in the safest spot in 
the world, I should think. This job fell like a bolt from the 
blue. It may be interesting, but I doubt it. I will have a 
motor of my own, at any rate, and will be at the head of 
the show, such as it is. 

I think you will be able to get my letters easily, but I 
don't see that I will ever hear from you. 

Jpril igth, 191 8. 
Well, I have settled down to my new job after an all- 
day motor trip. I am the only American in a large French 
city, and consequently am considerable of a curiosity. I 
am working with the British Staff here and have a desk in 
their Headquarters. Never have I met more delightful peo- 
ple and never have I met with more courtesy. There are 
also some extremely nice both British and French Naval 
people here. In fact I think I have "clicked" for about the 
best job in the whole Allied Army, and I certainly didn't 
hunt for it. It looks as if I would live to a ripe old age and 
die of senility, for Headquarters II American Corps have 
evidently decided that I am to be the handy man of their 
Hdqs. I gathered all this from a long talk I had with our 
Chief of Staff. I told him that I was fit and ready to do 
some real active service. He absolutely turned me down. 
He told me he could use right now twenty-five officers who 
understood British methods and that he had no intentions 
of letting me get away. So there you are. 

* He was sent to Cherbourg, attached to British Base Headquarters. 



330 LETTERS OF 

I am living in a very nice hotel, and the food is as good 
and as plentiful as in peace times; a bit more expensive, but 
that is the only difference. Everybody drinks cider in this 
part of France; you never see vin ordinaire at all. 

I am just going now with the British Base Commandant 
to call on the Prefect Maritime, an old French Admiral 
who I hear is a great character. I went yesterday to a 
French "at home." Talk about stiffness, it would have 
made an early Victorian reception look like Mardi-Gras. 

Awfully anxious about Campbell and Mick. 

Jpril 20th, 191 8. 

The more I see of this job the more I like it. I have a 
nasty sort of feeling that I ought to be in the scrap, but as 
there is nothing I can do about it I try to convince myself 
that I am doing what I really should be doing. 

I am considering leaving the hotel and going to live en 
pension with some nice French family. It would be much 
cheaper and would be an interesting experience. On the 
other hand, I am very comfortable where I am and the food 
is really wonderful. Besides, we have a small dining-room 
to ourselves, about twelve British officers, Naval and 
Military, and four or five French. It is really a sort of mess 
and is very good fun. One wounded French officer is a 
wonderful musician. He sometimes conducts the orches- 
tra at the Opera here. When he does he takes off" his 
officer's tunic and puts on a private's, as a French officer 
cannot appear in public in uniform. 

Jpril 21st, 191 8. 

I AM finding a lot more office work than I expected, but 
am wading through it and should have it fairly well cleared 
up in a day or so. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 331 

My French officer friends always call me "L'Armee 

Americaine a ." A Captain de Ferrier says that I 

should issue a communique every day from the American 

front at . I am going to the opera tonight with a lot 

of French officers to hear "Mignon." . . . 

I don't think I ever ate better food than I am getting 
here. And there seems to be any amount of it. Too much 
in fact. 

Really the British are wonderful. They are jumping over 
themselves trying to help me and be agreeable. 

April 22, 191 8. 

Still no news from you, but I don't suppose I can 
grouse when thousands of Americans with wives and 
children haven't heard in months. I saw by the paper that 
Congress has appointed a Committee to examine into the 
delay. Let's hope they get some results. . . . 

This certainly is a one-man show. If I can make a suc- 
cess of this job I don't see how anybody else can get the 
credit for it. On the other hand, if I don't do a good job. 
Well!!! 

April 23 r J, 191 8. 

It is tantalizing to be having interesting experiences all 
the time and not be able to write a word about them. But 
you see my position. I am attached to a British Staff and 
am only using their Postal and Censorship systems through 
courtesy; so that I have to be far more careful than I 
would be did I still hold my British Commission. Besides 
all this I have been in a position where I have known a 
great deal more what was going on than when I used to be 
in the line. Still it is tantalizing all the same. Yesterday 
afternoon, for instance, I saw things which thrilled me, 



23'^ LETTERS OF 

and later on I heard a genius who is an inventor talk about 
how some of the inventions of this war are going to revo- 
lutionize economic and social life after the war. It was 
thrilling and not a word about it may I say. . . . 

Well, I am glad I am not in Ireland just now, although 
I have an idea I could fight Sinn Feiners and still be friendly 
with them. 

April 26th, 191 8. 

You write that you hear U.S. troops are to be brigaded 
with the British, so I don't mind telling you that that is 
the job I am on. And a very splendid thing it is too. . . . 

Jpril 27th, 191 8. 

I HAVE been laid up for two days. A bit of tin hat has 
worked out of my back. The M.O. here took it out and I 
don't think made a very good job of it. But I am O.K. now. 
Apparently they left quite a bit of stuff in at Reading and 
an X-ray still shows a good deal. 

I have written Father Cronin, Father Nolan and Father 
Grady masterly letters on the Irish situation. They can 
do more than anybody to stop trouble. They are all good 
sports and I think possibly they may listen to me. They 
are the three priests who used to hunt — you, I think, 
heard Father Nolan preach a wonderful sermon. . . . 

May 2,rd, 1918. 

Naturally nothing interests me but Campbell.^ I have 
kept thinking of other people who might know about him 
and have written them. In a few days' time I won't be very 

^ Lieutenant Campbell R. Fraser, reported "missing." 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 333 

busy and am going to apply for leave for two days. I think 
I could find the 4th King's in that time and then I could 
really get to the bottom of the matter. 

It all makes me terribly ashamed of myself. Father 
ought to be doing my work and I ought to be in the Line. 
It seems a parody to write O.A.S. on my letters. In fact 
I have written the Chief of Staff asking to be relieved 
and posted to an infantry battalion. Not much of a thing 
to do because I shall be turned down, but it eased my con- 
science. 

A bit of tin hat has just been taken out of my back. It 
was just under the skin and I didn't even have to go into 
the hospital. They simply sprayed ethyl chloride (the 
freezing stuff) on the spot and whisked it out. Doctor 
Watson ^ once said, "Excellent stuff, ethyl chloride, the 
surgeon doesn't feel the pain nearly as much." 

But I have been through a really terrible experience. I 
had to go to a meeting at the Opera House. It was a lecture 
by the Prefect Maritime, Admiral Jaures, to the new 
French class which has just been called up. I had to sit on 
the stage with the British Base CO., a French General, a 
Belgian Colonel, an Italian, etc. He finally turned to me 
and said with many gestures, "Et nous avons avec nous, 
mes enfants, Le Lieut. Burton de L'Armee Americaine, 
etc." Well, I was in for it. Fortunately most of the boys 
were asleep; for, believe me, it was some speech, but they 
probably wouldn't have understood me, at any rate. . . . 

May 6th, 191 8. 

I JUST got your letter and Father's about Campbell. 
Pack and Warburton and Kendall ^ are three of the people 
I wrote to. I have heard no news from the 4th at all. I 

' Dr. Francis S. Watson, of Boston. * * All three were taken prisoner. 



334 LETTERS OF 

only fear that all of the people I have written to are not 
there any more. I have written one or two more letters, 
but there must be so few left that I know. 

If I can ever get leave, which is doubtful, I shall bring 
Mick back with me, as I should travel both ways by 
trawler in all probability and I know all the skippers here. 
He would be a great pleasure to me and could fight dogs 
here to his heart's content and nobody would mind. . . . 

France, May Sth, 191 8, 
Dear Spence, 

It is a long time since I have written you. I gather from 
bits you write that you are blue about your lot. There is 
only one thing worse than fighting in this war and that is 
not being able to fight. That I am afraid is your lot. I quite 
understand your feelings. 

When I used to be in the front line I used to dream of a 
job like my present one, and now that I have it I long to 
get back. I have been always and still am a coward. I 
know this, and it always troubles what is left of my con- 
science. Yet when I used to be in the front line I can truth- 
fully say I wasn't ever really afraid. It was only when 
a stray shell burst somewhere near, when I was back a 
bit, that I minded. My whole life seems like that; I can 
buck myself up for a big thing, but I tumble over a small 
thing. 

To think that you don't know the South of Ireland! 
You and I could run that country. You could straighten 
out the religious troubles and I could fix up the rest. When 
I left Fermoy there were about one hundred people at the 
station to see me off. Most of them wouldn't speak to each 
other, but they all came to see me off and sang, "For he's a 
Jolly Good Fellow." Never was I so well liked as in Ire- 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 33s 

land and the reason was very simple. I didn't want to re- 
form anybody or change anybody; I just liked them. For 
instance, a Father McConnel with whom I used to hunt 
was a terrible Sinn Feiner. On one occasion I was sent 
with troops to guard a bridge in his parish. And mind you, 
it was no child's play. Well, I went up to him, bought him 
a drink, and said, "Father, please be kind enough not to 
have your shows on hunting days." Well, that man rode 
ten miles to see me off. An Englishman would have called 
on him officially and would probably have had a brick 
dropped on his head later on. The great charm of them is 
that none of them ever considered whether they are gen- 
tlemen or not, or gives a damn. Well, when you get a per- 
son like that you get a gentleman or something very close 
to it. 

And the hunting! If you must be a priest why not an 
Irish one? You used to ride better than I, but believe me, 
you would have trouble riding that country. The jumps 
are not really jumps at all. They are huge stone walls. 
You go like the devil across fields and then slow up as you 
come to one; then your horse "leps" on top, changes feet 
and "leps" off, and you never know what is on the other 
side. Well, the hounds were fed on dead horses which were 
all killed hunting. And nobody hunts because it is the 
smart thing to do. You don't have to belong to any club 
or anything like that. After we had killed, Father McGuire 
used to pass around his hat. Oh, you must come with me 
sometime to Ireland. I would never go to England again if 
I had a chance of getting to Ireland. Poor Ireland, she is 
always supremely right and supremely wrong. 

Cap. 



336 LETTERS OF 

May iBtk, 191 8. 
Dear Mother, 

I STILL have very little to do. Just buzz about a bit and 
write a few letters. I wish there was more to do, as I am 
all ready for troops now if they would only come. 

I just saw a good joke in a French paper. There was the 
picture of an old Frenchman in his nighties in a most un- 
comfortable-looking cellar, during an air raid. He was say- 
ing, "And to think that I once gave two francs to erect a 
statue to Wilbur Wright!" 

We have just started three meatless days a week, but 
honestly I think we have more and better food on those 
days than on others. All sorts of odds and ends picked up 
on the beach and little tiny fish which other nations would 
throw away! And twice a day as good Camembert as I 
have ever had. 

I am playing bridge tonight with a French Staff Officer, 
just come back from Roumania via Archangel. 

I am afraid there is practically no one left who was in 
the 4th when I was there. 

May 23 r J, 191 8. 

Am getting very fed up with my job. I have done a lot of 
work, getting everything ready for troops who don't seem 
to be arriving. They seem to be going to every other place, 
but they give us a very wide berth. Still I don't see how 
they can have gone to all the trouble and expense they 
have and then do nothing. We shall see. 

I am seeing more of the French. I have always met 
them around in cafes, etc., but now there are two families 
where I go. They are always charming, but in their own 
homes they are doubly so. At a Captain de Gagnier's 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 337 

house we have some of the best bridge I have ever had. I 
also get some great chess with a Captain de Fournier. 

There are also some very interesting British Naval men 
here. . . . 

Let me know about Helen. 

May 24th, 191 8. 

Helen can't have received my letter yet or she would 
know that Kendall is missing. 

I see Balcombe-Brown is also missing, but then I have 
seen so many names in the casualty lists that it sometimes 
seems as if there can be nobody left that I know. . . . 

The food here is wonderful. Here's what we had for 
lunch today: Oysters, artichokes, Coques St. Jacques, new 
potatoes and some of the best Camembert I ever ate. The 
meatless days you get by far the best meals, as a French 
chef looks on a meatless day as a sort of a challenge. 

May 26th, 191 8. 

It certainly is a comfort having a good English batman. 
The Doctor's man looks after the two of us and he cer- 
tainly is a good man. He is old, stupid and slow, but he 
spends the whole day keeping your possessions in shape 
and he certainly turns me out well. 

I would like a picture of me with Mick. Send me the one 
which is the best of Mick. I wonder how he is getting on 
with Lily.^ Does she really like him or is she just so good 
that she pretends she does ? 

May 2Sth, 1918. 

What do you think I have got to do now.^* I received 
a wire telling me to decorate graves, Union and Confed- 

^ A former housemaid. 



338 LETTERS OF 

erate alike, of sailors of the Alabama and the Kearsarge. I 
couldn't make head or tails of it. I have finally found 
out that during the Civil War these boats actually did fight 
off here and the dead are buried here. So I am going to hold 
a Decoration Day all on my own, and I intend doing it up 
to the hilt. I don't think I shall make a speech to myself, 
but I certainly shall march out alone, doff my cap, etc. I 
am even betting that it rains to add to the realism of things. 
I went out mine-sweeping again yesterday on one of the 
trawlers. What wonderful sea boats they are, and what 
splendid chaps are on them! 

May 31//, 191 8. 

I FINALLY got one letter from you from the Mitre. Tell 
Helen that I hear that there seems to be no rule about 
hearing from prisoners of war. Several people have told 
me that sometimes you hear in a few days and sometimes 
for no apparent reason it is months. . . . 

There is only one thing to do with Mick. Buy a muzzle 
and keep it on him when he is out. He may be such a fool 
that he will still try to fight, but if he is he must take his 
medicine. . . . 

Decoration Day was a howling success! "Everybody 
who is anybody" was there. Some day I will show you the 
photograph which I had taken. Later on I entertained at 
the Grand Cafe de Balcon, and if I do say it, it was one 
huge success. Major Leake, the Brigade Major, made a 
speech (as did everybody) asking me if I couldn't get Con- 
gress to pass a law to have Decoration Day once a month. 

The French here seem confident, but certainly things 
are serious. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 339 

June Sth, 191 8. 



Dear Dad, 



I AM very enthusiastic about our Army at present. They 
are doing wonderful things everywhere. For the first time 
I really feel that we are eventually going to be the people 
who will be the deciding factor in crushing the Hun. 

June loih, 1918. 

Dear Mother, 

There have been two American destroyers in here. It 
was good to see them. The officers, all surprisingly young, 
I saw a lot of and they certainly were good fun. Did I or 
did I not hear that our Navy was dry? There certainly 
were no signs of it here, but there wasn't the least bit of 
trouble. In fact everybody was sorry to see them go. 

One officer said to me, "Say, Burton, why don't you get 
yourself made Mayor of this Burg, you seem to be every- 
thing else." 

My British naval friends tell me that their ships were 
as shipshape as a British destroyer, which is high praise 
indeed. 

The picture of Mick is splendid. Will you send me a 
picture of you, Father and Spence and a few of the house, 
garden, etc., if you have them? I am not getting sen- 
timental in my old age, but if I am going to live here 
forever, I am going to try to make my room look like 
something. It is a splendid, airy, clean room, but oh 
the pictures! 

Ju7ie 14th, 1918, 

I HAD an interesting day yesterday. Some French 
friends asked me to go to Church for the First Communion 



340 LETTERS OF 

of their Kid and afterwards to their home for a fete. It 
was all very lovely and I was very flattered by being asked. 
I love France and the French, except in one thing. I do 
get awfully tired of the continual fuss. You can never have 
a meal or even a drink without the head waiter cussing out 
somebody. In fact you can hardly buy anything in a shop 
without a brawl. It does get on my nerves. Still it doesn't 
mean anything, and it just happens to be their way of 
getting things done. 

Still no work to do. If I hold this job I shall be, as Port 
Officer, the last American to leave France after the War. 
Pleasant thought! 

My landlady is in love with Mick. I am trying to get 
Captain Scott, R.A.F., to fly him over. That is the only 
way I could get him across. But he is afraid of getting 
caught. 

June 2$th, 1918. 

Well, they weren't such fools as I thought they were. 
The long expected work has sure come. I think Father at 
least can realize that it is some job to get 2,000 Americans 
and tons of belongings off a boat and eventually to see that 
nobody misses the train. This can be accomplished just 
about the time the next lot are appearing. Still I can't 
grouse. I wanted work and am much happier. 

July 1st, 191 8. 
A BIT of time to take my breath today, as there were no 
troops and, by George, I am glad of it. ... If I get work at 
the rate I have been getting it you can't expect to hear very 
often, but I will try to get off at least two letters per week. 
I literally have been days without getting my clothes off, 
but I have got things working a bit smoother now. Our men 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 341 

are simply splendid and have splendid discipline. I wish 
I could say as much for the officers. Of course a lot of them 
are fine, but a lot are terribly, terribly crude and cocky. 
But on the whole they look very, very good to me and a 
good many thousand have already gone through. 

My job principally seems to be the official peacemaker. 

July 13th, 1918. 

The more I see of our troops the more enthusiastic I am. 
They really are splendid and their disciphne is far better 
than I ever thought possible. 

No time for more now. 

Jvg. ijth, 1918. 

Between you and me the news about Campbell ^ did 
not come as a terrible shock to me, as I have had all along 
a hunch that he was not a prisoner. 

As to leave! I thought I had it, but for the present at 
any rate it won't be granted. In my position, however, it 
is almost as easy to get English leave as French, so one day 
I shall blow in. 

I have had the privilege of working with a great many 
thousand American troops. As you know I have not been 
a great optimist. That is all changed now. They are far, 
far better than I ever dreamt they would be. And their 
discipline is up to that of the best British troops I have 
seen. Next spring they are going to come very close to 
winning this war, or I am greatly mistaken. 

I wish I could have a long talk with you all about them; 
but I am sure it won't be long now before I get to England. 

1 Word had been received that Lieut. Campbell R. Fraser had been killed in 
action, while gallantly fighting at Meteren. 



342 LETTERS OF 

Cherbourg, Aug. 1 8, 'l8. 

Ordered report former Headquarters. Another job. 

Burton. 



Flanders, Sept. 2nd, 191 8. 

Dear Mon, 

Well, I am really back in the War. When I got up here 
I saw the long line of observation balloons, the bursting 
Archies, the long lines of transport, the ruined villages, 
and heard the noise and all, it seemed as if the whole of my 
life between May 20, 191 7, and now was but a sort of 
dream, and the wonderful thing is that almost instantane- 
ously I have become keen again. I wouldn't have thought 
it possible, but it is true. It is American enthusiasm which 
has done it, and whatever we do or don't do I firmly be- 
lieve that both the French and the British, tired of the 
war as they are, have caught it also. I am so keen that I 
went to see if I couldn't get posted to some infantry bat- 
talion, not because I felt it my duty, but because I really 
want to fight with our American boys; but no chance. The 
Corps has every intention of hanging on to me, as near 
as I can make out. They have no intention of giving me 
a really good job, but have made up their mind (or rather 
his mind) that I am a sort of handy man to have sitting 
around to do any old job that turns up. I wish I could 
write my views on the victory here. I know too much 
about it to say a word. Suffice it to say, that in my opin- 
ion there is no possible way for the Boche to be anything 
but decisively beaten in the end. I don't think he will give 
in for a long time yet, but I think there is a good sporting 
chance that he may collapse sooner than anybody expects. 
I tried to look for Campbell's grave, if such a thing exists, 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 343 

but it was too hot there today. Shall have another go to- 
morrow. 

Love, 

Cap. 

September 3, 191 8. 

Dear Helen, 

I AM at present very near Indeed to where Campbell was 
killed. I have tried on two days to search the neighborhood 
in the vague hope that I might find his grave, or at any rate 
the graves of some of the King's. I am sorry to tell you 
that I have had no luck; on both occasions it was too hot 
for me. The first time the shelling was too strenuous for me 
to get there and today I got there, but got shelled out. It is 
an awful mess. If by some strange chance I should be able 
to find his grave, of course it would prove everything, but 
not finding it would prove nothing. If the Hun goes back 
a bit farther it will of course be possible to go over it with 
a fine-tooth comb. I wonder if you know the terrific strate- 
gical value of that particular bit of land. Also how very 
near the Hun came to breaking clean through; also that 
there was very little left behind to stop him going right on. 
It certainly was a supreme moment and by a sad chance for 
you, a happy chance for England, a supremely fine man 
and a gallant soldier was on the spot. I shan't comment on 
what Campbell did other than to say it was just what I 
always knew he would do in a crisis. I have met many 
brave men, but I never yet met a man whom I considered 
you could depend upon to be brave always as much as he. 
Most people have their good days, and their off days, but 
not so he. I do not know that it is the right thing to say, 
but it is true, I am so selfish and was so fond of him, that 
side by side with my sympathy for you is a horrid feeling 



344 LETTERS OF 

that I have had a loss as well. I think we were really more 
intimate than you imagine. 

Helen, I hope to get leave to try and tell you how sorry 
(not the right word at all) I was. In fact, really to talk to 
you, if you cared to, about Campbell. 

I nearly got it, but I got turned down finally, and now 
I don't see any chance of ever getting leave. 

Helen, I just put off writing you from day to day, but it 
really wasn't at all callousness. If there was anything I 
could do to help, Helen, I would do it. 

Love, 

Cap. 

Sept. 6, 1918. 
Dear Mother, 

I AM now far, far away from where I was when I wrote 
you last and for the time being well back of the line in 
billet. 

This is mainly for Helen. The 4th King's are very near 
here and I had lunch with Col. Beall, who is, to every- 
body's joy, back with the Battalion, Maj. Browne and 
Capt. Boumphrey. I also saw Ager and Boardman. They 
are all that is left of the officers. I saw, however, a lot of 
N.C.O.'s and men who I knew and I don't mind telling you 
that I was touched at how glad they all seemed to be to see 
me. Col. Beall was simply charming and very amusing. He 
wanted to know when I intended going into the Italian 
Army. It was very refreshing. I shall never mention it 
again, but among a very large class of American officers an 
officer who has served with another Army is looked on dis- 
tinctly with suspicion. This is the attitude, "What the 
hell are you, anyway, an American or an Englishman?" 
If my skin was not so thick this would be hard to bear; as it 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 345 

is it does no harm except that it will seriously hinder any 
chance of promotion for me. But what of that? 

This is for Helen. One and all v^qyc terribly surprised to 
hear that Campbell was killed. They were all firmly con- 
vinced that he was a prisoner. I must say they couldn't give 
any very definite reasons for this belief except that his body 
was not found. There were, however, other cases of bodies 
not found of men who have not been reported prisoners. 

Capt. cut loose to me and said that allowing him to 

go back was nothing less than a disgrace both to the Bat- 
talion and to the Brigade. Every one was really affected 
to hear that he was done in. 

The other interesting experience I have had was to visit 
all the part of the line where I was hit.^ No wonder it was 
a tough nut to crack; there were things there we never 
dreamt of. I will tell you all about them some day. It is 
comparatively safe there now, thanks to this marvellous 
push; only a few long-range shells dropping about and no 
particular method about these. 

Give up the idea of my ever getting any English or other 
leave for a long time at any rate. It might be possible in 
the winter if the fighting slows up. 

^ Our cousin France, Mrs. David Margesson, writes while visiting the battle- 
fields: "I remember the severe fighting that Caspar had on this line. It was an 
amazing sight. I can never describe it. Confusion, desolation, tortured and 
twisted trees, bits of iron, wire, earth, huge concrete gun emplacements, and all 
so lonely now and forsaken. It seemed haunted to us as we gazed upon it. And 
yet we could only feel a sense of glory, not despair, as we looked and thought of 
you and Caspar's mortal wound and of his imperishable spirit. The village of 
Fontaine-les-Croisilles lies among this carnage. Until ten days ago it was de- 
serted, but today there are four or five brave people beginning to scrape together 
a home. It seems incredible, but they are there, patient and uncomplaining. We 
saw them. Some day you and Harry must come. You will never believe what it 
is like till you see it, and it will not sadden you too much because you will under- 
stand even more perfectly than you do already what your beloved Caspar 
achieved and overcame in himself to do what he did. Glory and honour be to him 
and to those other most gallant men." 



346 LETTERS OF 

Sept. 7th, 191 8, 

Harry Lauder turned up today and gave in a barn just 
about the best performance I have ever attended. Really 
he is an artist. He finished it off with a speech about the 
War, its causes, what we were fighting for and why we must 
win. During the last few years I have heard many such 
speeches, a few from rather well-known people, but noth- 
ing to touch his little talk. The truthfulness of it, the sim- 
plicity of it, the deepness of it and the fire of it were stir- 
ring. 

You can see by this that I am at present well back of the 
line and will probably be here for a short time. Davie 
Hay ward, ^ a fellow in The Fly who I like very much, is 
here. Also Ralph Bradley;^ you know his mother in Bos- 
ton. . . . 

I have been up where I spent the winter of 16-17. In 
spite of all this year's fighting it isn't nearly so desolate as 
it was then, for there is grass. 

Am very tired. 

Good night, 

Cap. 

Sept. 10th, 191 8. 

Just a line tonight, as I am very tired. . . . 

I had tea today at my old Brigade LIdqs., where I saw 
some of the old crowd. There is one good feature about 
being here, I can always get either a car or a horse when 
I get time off. The best description of my job is that of 
Corps handyman. Well, it isn't what I would like. I would 

* George Davenport Hayward, Harvard, '12, became a second lieutenant, 
Infantry, A.E.F. He writes: "I shall always remember his bright, cheery dis- 
position and his 'carry on' spirit both at work and in rest periods, which taught 
me a lot and helped us all so greatly to pull together." 

* Ralph Bradley, Harvard, '09, became a major, Engineers, A.E.F. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 347 

like to get in some regular outfit where I could try to make 
a place for myself, or at least try to, but c'est la guerre, and 
these guys don't seem to want to let me go. 

By the way, Scho is a Major and is at present in a Staff 
College. It would be funny if he stuck to the Army after 
the War. I hear he likes it. 

Too tired for more tonight. 

Cap. 

Sept. 1 2th, 191 8. 

I HAVE had a couple of very interesting days; have really 
practically seen the whole of the great advance. I am 
afraid to say a word about it, for I have seen a bit too 
much to trust myself to say anything. Tell Helen I have 
been lately with a Texas outfit. One huge man, a sergeant, 
knows her father. He says, "He is a mighty fine man, but 
he sure can get peeved at times." 

Here 's a tale of a negro regiment. They had been taught 
all about bombs. Finally the day came when they were to 
throw a live one apiece. They were waiting their turn in a 
trench when one fellow threw his out of the trench, out of 
turn, without even taking out the pin. When the officer 
asked why he had done this he said, "Boss, I could feel her 
swelHn' in mah han!" But really to watch a nigger bat- 
talion is the most amusing experience in the world. If you 
ask a sergeant a question he salutes you after each sentence 
and never by any chance knows what you want to know. 
It's curious, but the French like us better than they like 
the English, and the English like us better than they like 

the French. said to me that the Americans find the 

French and the French customs interesting, and the English 
find them curious. It about hits the nail on the head. 



348 LETTERS OF 

Sept. 15th, 191 8. 

I GOT your letter about Helen's news. I shall try to get 
to the 4th as soon as possible. I will there try to find any 
officer, N.C.O., or man who was actually on "the burying 
party." I will then find out whether this same farmhouse 
was blown to bits or not. In other words, if this farm- 
house was not blown to bits and if other bodies were found 
there it seems to me that there is still a vague chance that 
he may still be alive. At any rate I will find out all I can 
and let Helen know. 

I consider that the American success south is of great 
importance, for (I) It will encourage both the French and 
British. (II) It will have a very bad effect on German 
morale. (Ill) Our troops will learn a lot in it and will be 
just ripe for something bigger when it comes off. 

When I see our army doing things that seem a mistake 
to me, I console myself by thinking of the things they are 
really doing well. Foremost of these is the way they scrap 
officers who don't make good. They are just plain sent 
home and their commissions taken from them. It is really 
appalling, but I believe absolutely the thing to do. 

You keep saying how anxious you are to see me. Well, 
I don't really see how there is a possible chance. As far as 
I know nobody from this Corps has ever got leave and no- 
body ever even talks about it or really wants it, and even 
if I ever did get it, it is doubtful if I could get to England. 

Sept. 20th, 191 8. 

Have been sitting on Court Martials all day and am on 
duty tonight, but for some reason or another am very tired. 

Dad said he wished I could be "where the Americans are 
fighting." Tell him it wouldn't be good for his health to 
repeat that to any of the II Corps Infantry in these parts. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 349 

One Alliance at any rate is a finished article. The Ameri- 
cans and the Australians, I venture to remark, hit it off 
better than any two forces in this whole war. They just 
simply love each other both in the line and out. They 
never by any chance disagree on any subject, and all they 
ask is to be stuck in the line together, and when they have 
been I fancy nothing very gentle has occurred. On the 
other hand, this combination, while a tough nut for the 
Hun to crack, is a still more difficult nut for the military 
police to crack. The discipline here is really on the whole 
very good (very different from the British, but good), but 
to an American a military policeman is just a cop. 

Am very interested in censoring letters to find out how 
much better educated the American soldier is than the 
British. There is just no comparison, but then they ought 
to write better letters, for they write so few. The average 
soldier has a girl or a wife (fairly regular), mother spas- 
modically, but apparently no American soldier has either 
a brother, sister or male friend. 

Sept. list, 191 8. 
Dear Dad, 

I USED to think in 1916 that this particular bit of France 
was no Garden of Eden, but I didn't have any idea then of 
what being desolate was like. Still I really think now that 
things are going very, very well, and that is a big help. 
I am afraid it is too late to mop things up this fall, but 
I think there is a sporting chance of something really big 
being pulled off any day at any one of a dozen places. 

Have just come back from the line, and it sure is a 
pleasure to see our fellows everywhere and to knoWy as an 
impartial judge, that there are no better shock troops at 



350 LETTERS OF 

the present date in any army. The best tribute to them 
that I know is that Australian soldiers, even close up to 
the line, almost always salute you. That is high praise 
indeed. 

I have temporarily lost the old division, so that I can't 
yet get Helen's information, but when things quiet down a 
bit I will try to find them and no doubt will succeed. 

Will be able to write oftener from now on, as I sure have 
been on the run for the last few days. 

Am at present living in the box stall of a stable of what 
Was once a beautiful chateau and am O.K., as the roof is 
whole over my bit of stable and there is any amount of 
wood about. 

I was very glad to hear Mick is getting on so well. If 
only I was allowed to have a dog here he would be a great 
comfort and pleasure. 

Oct. 2nd, 191 8. 

Dear Mother, 

It seems almost impossible to write a letter at the pres- 
ent time and not tell anything about what is going on. 
But I really am afraid to say a single thing for two reasons: 
(i) The American censorship regulations are about eight 
times as severe as the British. (2) I am in a position where 
I know too much to trust myself to say much of anything. 

I don't mind saying, however, that I can personally 
vouch for the fact that our boys put up a splendid scrap. 
And this information I did not get from official sources or 
hearsay. 

I saw amidst many gruesome sights one thing which de- 
lighted me: An old British tank covered with Iron Crosses 
and German lettering saying that it had been captured 
from the British by a certain German Army. These letters 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 351 

were large and well blocked. Underneath written in chalk 
was 

RETAKEN BY THE WAACS 1 

Oct. $rd, 191 8. 

I haven't had a letter in a long while, but don't suppose 
it is to be expected with all that is going on in these parts. 
There is no two ways about it things are certainly going 
well. If only the Allies can keep up this terrific pressure, 
i.e., kill, wound and capture Germans at the rate they are 
doing, and at the same time gain enough ground to encour- 
age our men and discourage the Hun, I really think the end 
may be sooner than we dream. . . . 

I would love to be able to tell you more about my weird 
job and just thousands of things I have seen, particularly 
a few days ago, but that will have to wait. . . . 

I lost about the best friend I had here, a Southerner 
named Byrd, the other day. I find that when I am up with 
the battalions I like almost everybody. 

Oct. 4ih, 191 8. 

I can't go to bed without saying, "H^ow about it?" 
Isn't the news everywhere glorious.^ I really believe al- 
most any day may see the old Hun crack somewhere, by 
that I mean absolutely crack, not only run, but surrender 
by battalions. Everybody is confident, but not foolishly 
so, except some of these old birds back where I am tem- 
porarily. 

I don't think I ever wrote you that several weeks ago 
I had a chance to visit my favorite church.^ It is absolutely 
intact, and never was such a marvel, as shells from an ex- 
tremely big and extremely long-range gun (which I have 

^ Women's Auxiliary Army Corps. ^ Amiens Cathedral. 



2S'^ LETTERS OF 

seen) literally fell all around it, and they were so big that 
they would have crumpled that marvellous vaulting to 
dust. 

I got two letters from you today. You certainly are a 
good guesser, as you were when I was out before. 

Saw a pleasant sight today where the Huns had lived in 
some expensive vaults in a cemetery. I would have done 
that, but they had actually cut open the coffins and robbed 
the corpses of rings, etc. 

Oct. Sth, 191 8. 

Just a line tonight, as I am just about all in, and it 
really looks as if I am going to be able actually to get my 
clothes off and get a real night's sleep. 

I am about to make the effort of my life and try to get 
at least one layer of dirt off before I turn in. 

My one fear is that the politicians are going to make 
peace. It would be too terrible, now that we have really 
got them whipped. Nothing short of the unconditional 
surrender of the entire German Army will do now. 

Tell Dad that I have finally succumbed after all, this 
time, to the charms of souvenir hunting. I have for him 
a short light German artillery rifle which I think will make 
the ideal sporting rifle. It is brand-new, right off the fire, 
so to speak, and I am going to stick to it if I have to throw 
away the rest of my kit. 

Oct. 14th, 1918. 
A LETTER from you in some mysterious manner eventu- 
ally found its way to me, how I don't know, but the British 
mail can do anything. By a strange chance the boys ^ you 
are visiting are the very ones I am now with, and a fine lot 

^ Wounded men of the 27th and 30th Divisions. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 3S3 

they are. They have tackled several very, very tough bits 
and have hardly made even a small slip. 

Have got a good billet in a town where the Hun was com- 
fortably settled several days ago. He left a lot of good stuff 
behind and the town is fairly habitable, as he left in a great 
hurry. When we get the dead Huns cleared out (and horses) 
it will really be pretty decent. Saw with my own eyes a 
young woman with a Hun bayonet right through her heart. 
Looks like he is getting nasty again with civilians. If we 
can only keep going we will get some good towns for the 
winter and leave the desert behind. 

This is a new phase of this war to me. Today I saw 
in a town, almost in the lines, civilians, who all three years 
had kept French flags hidden, putting them out. And our 
boys were wonderful. Just sort of doing odd jobs about the 
house to help out. More real happiness floating about than 
I have seen in a long time. . . . 

I can't see anything to this peace talk. Nothing but a 
licking will take the fangs out of Prussia and they are 
getting it every day and will get more. 

Nov. 8, 1918. 
Dear Dad, 

As I write this Peace looks very near indeed. Of course 
any arrangements you make with regard to me are satis- 
factory, to say the least. As to what the immediate future 
may bring for us it is pure futile guesswork. I may go back 
soon after it is over or I may possibly have a great deal 
to do. I never felt so small in my life, and at that I have 
seen more per minute than one generally sees in a month. 

Since we have been at rest I have been constantly on 
the move, making trips of a very interesting kind indeed. 
On each return I have expected my leave to see you. . . . 



354 LETTERS OF 

Shortly after the Armistice he got English leave and 
spent it in London with Father, Mother and his countless 
friends there. Those were happy days in what was truly 
Merrie England. No one was merrier than Cap. His 
happiness then as always was contagious. We all caught 
it. Moreover, wasn't the fighting over, men no longer 
killing each other, and Caspar actually alive? He seemed 
given back to us from the dead. His wounds seemed only 
signs of glory and he himself vibrant with life and fun. To 
have him return to France on November 24 seemed only 
an interruption in our new happiness that was to be con- 
tinued indefinitely at home. Accordingly Father, Mother 
and Emily returned to America in time to give me a Merry 
Christmas. 

BonnHable, December 24, 191 8. 

Dear Mother, 

I HOPE you got my wire in time for Christmas. 

I haven't written for a long time because up to now I 
have really thought that almost any day would see us on 
our way. Now I don't know! I think now that we may be 
here indefinitely. I am very much afraid that this Hdqs. 
will stay right here, and that as we ship a division home it 
will be replaced by a new one; in short we may be amongst 
the last to leave. But really there are so many rumors 
that it is hard to make anything out of it all. 

After Christmas I threaten to write a real blue "grous- 
ing" letter, but maybe I will have cheered up by then. 
Let's hope so, at any rate, for surely anybody who is alive 
has no kick coming. 

We are in a really charming little town here, but it sure is 
rural. Le Mans, the only suggestion of a town, is twenty- 
eight kilos away and that isn't much when you get there. 
In fact I have only been there twice. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 3SS 

The thing which really amuses me is that everybody 
now wishes they were back with the British! Some day I 
will tell you all about it, but the penalty for criticism is so 
severe that I will withhold for the present. I will say, 
however, that you have to do three hours' work here to 
accomplish what you formerly could in one hour. 

Now that I have made up my mind that I am stuck here 
I will start and write two or three times a week. 

Well, a Merry Christmas and I truly wish I were home. 
No letters so far. 

Cap. 

Le Mans, Jan. 23. 
Burton, 

Cincinnati, Ohio. 

Well. Home soon. 

Burton. 

Camp Mills, N.Y., Feb. 20. 
C. H. Burton, 

3730 Reading Road, Cincinnati, Ohio. 
Thanks. Here about three days, then Upton about 
week. Demobilized. Then directly home. Everything 
fine. 

Cap. 

From Mills and Upton Caspar often got to New York 
and saw scores of friends there. For him they were divided 
into two classes — those who had been in the War, " all 
the way in," as he expressed it, and those who had not. He 
preferred enemies to pacifists. 

One story of him at this time illustrates his point of view. 
He decided to take the bull by the horns by calling at 



3S6 LETTERS OF 

once on his only Austrian friend Mrs. Charles W. Short, 
the Countess Camilla Hoyos, who had become an American 
by marrying Charley Short. All her brothers, brothers-in- 
law and nephews had served Austria and Germany as 
either officers or diplomats. Caspar opened the conversa- 
tion by saying, "Well, Camilla, how many of your family 
were killed?" When she replied, "None," Caspar said — 
"Then, as far as I am concerned, the War is a complete 
failure. Whenever I was at the Front I went out gunning 
for Ludwig Karl or one of your tribe. They and others 
like them made this war, and now I find that they are all 
still alive to make another." 

Nothing could be more characteristic of his frankness; 
yet his charm and the absence of any personal malice in 
him were so great that even after such talk he and Camilla 
remained intimate friends. 

I was never in New York when he was there on leave; 
but I did get to Camp to see him. We had not been to- 
gether for over four years, not since he left Boston for New- 
foundland just after Christmas, 1914. We spent about 
twenty hours together at Upton and both talked steadily 
all the time, even in our sleep. There was plenty to talk 
about, both of the past and of the future. At first the 
present was an ample topic. I had never seen him look so 
sturdy. He was so broad-shouldered and muscular that 
for his height he looked top-heavy. I noticed at once that 
he took little, short breaths. I spoke of it, but he parried 
my question. 

Then came my usual inquiry, "What are you going to 
do now?" Instead of evading it he replied, "I'm going 
home and settle down." He looked sheepish as he said it, 
and as I smiled he added, "You may not believe that, 
but I am through roaming. Home looks pretty good to 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 357 

me. This old war has knocked a lot of pep out of me, 
Spencey." 

After that we settled down to talk seriously. He said 
that he had made the discovery in the Army that men 
would work for him and apparently enjoyed doing so. He 
had found that he liked working with men and saw no rea- 
son why he should not apply this newly discovered ability 
to get work out of men, to business. He said he hated the 
idea of routine office work as much as ever, but he felt that 
he would not have to do that in business any more than in 
the Army. I remember his words, "God has created ser- 
geants to do all that." 

I had never heard of such a job as he said he was going to 
find, but he talked convincingly and he afterwards did find 
just such a position. What made me happiest in all our 
conversation was his determination to live with Father 
and Mother. "I have not come through this show alive for 
nothing," he said. "I won't take a job that prevents me 
living with them." 

When we undressed I demanded a private exhibition of 
his scars. While I examined his back he talked up all its 
"points of interest." Up by his neck, almost on the spine, 
there was a livid blue hole, where the bulk of the junk in 
his left lung had gone in. To illustrate what that was 
probably like he had me feel a loose piece of metal under 
the skin, just below his shoulder blade. It felt like a loose 
key in one's pocket. I told him he must have it out at once. 
As usual when I gave orders he told me to mind my own 
business, that it was his back and his "war souvenir." 
He didn't want his discharge delayed by another operation. 
He said he would have it taken out as soon as he was a 
civilian again. That he did not do at once. Soon it migra- 
ted from the surface. I have often wondered if it travelled 



358 CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 

to his heart. It was like Cap to wear his medals out of 
sight. Had it been taken out then, when it was near the sur- 
face, it would have left a white cruciform scar, like the others 
that ornamented his back. I told him they looked like the 
crosses chalked on the shutter in Joe Jefferson's "Rip Van 
Winkle" to show for how many drinks he owed. Then as I 
looked at those crosses, I saw they were in the pattern of 
the crosses on an altar stone. In a flash I saw Caspar, con- 
viviality and sacrifice, Rip Van Winkle and our Saviour. 



V 
HOME 



FOR A YEAR 

I 91 9-1 920 

"You may not believe it, but I have come home to live,** 
were Caspar's first words to our parents when, after being 
discharged from the Army, he got off the train at Cincin- 
nati. That was good news, but difficult to believe. Every 
instinct impelled him to roam and every good business 
opening offered him involved being away from home. They 
frequently meant going to South America. That appealed 
to him, and I know he was acutely tempted to accept an 
offer that would have taken him to Brazil. The upper 
waters of the Amazon seemed within his reach. Fortunately 
for us that job involved working for a German-American, 
and he said he had seen enough of Germans. 

When he was at home in the spring of 191 9 he said he 
thought a holiday was due him and that he did not intend 
even to look for work until after his Decennial Class Re- 
union in Cambridge that June. So for three months at 
home he amused himself, his parents and every one he met. 

The pro-Germanism and the anti-British feeling he found 
broadcast in Cincinnati disgusted him. He felt something 
must be done to make Americans understand the Allies 
and be willing to work with them for the peace of the 
world. He talked on that subject with every one he met. 
Also he made several public speeches. People who heard 
them say they were clear, intelligent and convincing. The 
first was at a meeting for our Allies in the garden at home. 
Caspar was one of several ex-soldiers to speak. Afterwards 
he was asked to speak to hundreds of boys and girls at 



362 LETTERS OF 

Hughes High School and at the Wise Social Centre. 
These speeches were not overlooked by the British and the 
French offices of propaganda. From the British Great War 
Veterans of America we received this letter of sympathy 
and appreciation: 

New York City, 
March 30, 1920. 

Dear Mrs. Burton, 

It is with sincere regret that the New York Command of 
the above Association learned of your deep loss, and your 
son's name shall ever be held in reverence and esteem by 
this Command. 

Though the good Lord has seen fit to call your son, I am 
sure that it will always be a grateful remembrance to you 
that he fought for liberty and freedom when the world cried 
aloud for assistance. 
Believe us to be 

Ever sincerely yours, 

F. G. Armstrong, 
British Great War Veterans of America^ Inc. 

Count de Wierzbicki, of the French High Commission, 
who, like Caspar, had spoken at Hughes High School, 
telegraphed on March 31: "Just heard the tragic news. 
Please accept my deepest heart sympathy for you and all 
the splendid young fighter's family and believe in my own 
most sincere grief and sense of personal loss." 

In May Caspar went to the woods with Father for the 
trout fishing. It was the place he wanted to go most. 
Then in June he went to Cambridge for the Tenth Reunion 
of the Harvard Class of 1909. He had missed all his other 
class reunions and tried to make up for lost time. Cer- 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 2^2. 

tainly no one has ever packed into a few days more fun 
with old friends than he did. What really pleased him 
most about them was that they saw eye to eye with him 
on the War. Ranks and decorations did not impress him. 
What he wanted to know was when men had gotten into 
the War and how far they had gotten into it. The War 
records of Harvard men made him more completely 
devoted to Harvard than ever. 

By the time he got back to Cincinnati and to hunting 
work it was July. Then most of the prominent business 
men were away. He got bored and discouraged by having 
long interviews with under-men in firms, for he knew they 
had not the authority to give him a good job. It seemed 
futile to try to find a business opening until autumn. So 
early in August he and Father went back to camp, where 
they stayed for over a month on their last and happiest 
visit there together. Father says Caspar never talked 
more interestingly than during that time in the woods 
about the War, international problems, and his own pros- 
pects in business. While there he wrote his last letter, in 
time to reach Mother on her birthday. 

Pontiac Game Club, 
Doyle Post Office, 

Pro. Quebec, Canada, 
August, 1919. 

Dear Mother, 

We are having as usual a splendid time, but I am very 

glad you didn't come. If you had you would not have 

been left alone when we went out, but would have had 

to keep you company. He and William ^ are more than 

anybody should be asked to face alone. Surely of this 

Club was it written, "Where every prospect pleases and 

^ A German-Canadian gamekeeper. 



364 LETTERS OF 

only man is vile.'* Oh, if I only had the authority to 
handle that German! They can't understand that you 
have either got to have a German under you or have him 
insolent. 

This ought to get to you about September 5. Many 
happy returns. Give my best to Spence and everybody. 

I think much about work. I feel confident of making 
good at a job, even if uninteresting, once I have got one, 
but I feel like a child when it comes to getting one. I 
don't seem to know where, when or how to begin. I feel 
like sailing a boat, tacking aimlessly about with no partic- 
ular object, getting nowhere and not getting much fun 
out of it. If somebody would only come alongside and tell 
me where to sail I would trim sheets and hold her nose to 
it even if it was a rough voyage. . . . 

Love, 

Cap. 

No letter is more characteristic of him — with plenty of 
courage for "a rough voyage," he felt himself "tacking 
aimlessly about with no particular object." 

Father took the helm when they got back to Cincinnati. 
By October he had found an excellent business opening, 
and Cap jumped into it with all his enthusiasm. Although 
he was entirely without business training he seemed ex- 
traordinarily able in his new business, especially in man- 
aging men. 

It did not last long, for on December 8 he became acutely 
ill. As soon as he got out of the Army we all noticed his 
quick, short breaths. Physicians told him he had a bound- 
ing pulse and that with all that junk in his lung and with 
such heart action he must never have pneumonia. Shortly 
after getting out of the Army he found blood on his pillow 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 365 

several mornings. He thought that the junk in his lung 
might have moved. In any case he was worried enough 
to consult a physician. After a brief examination Dr. 
Greenebaum told him he must attend to his heart at once. 
Instead of having a thorough heart examination Caspar 
left him, saying, "You let that old pump of mine alone. 
It has seen me through the War and I guess it is good for a 
long time yet." 

Caspar knew his heart was in bad shape. He promised to 
see a physician in Boston about his heart when he went on 
for his Class Reunion. All summer we noticed that he rarely 
played golf or rode. He went habitually to the ball games. 
We thought that strange, for he had always preferred to 
play games than to watch others do so. During his illness 
he told us that he found he could not negotiate the hills on 
the golf course and that his heart was not up to any real 
exercise. All summer he lost weight. By autumn the 
civilian clothes he had bought in London when he was a 
soldier hung on him like sacks. We were all worried about 
his health, but he made light of it and insisted that he was 
all right. After the collapse came he admitted that he 
knew all along that his heart was in a serious condition. 
He saved it as much as he could without being an invalid. 
He said he thought that the end would come suddenly, and 
that in the meantime he did not want to worry us, or to 
have us worry him by urging him not to do this or that. He 
thought he would live as he pleased while he lived and that 
then he would die as he preferred, suddenly. He had to 
learn a different way. His error in judgment does not 
detract from his courage or from his generosity to us by 
going on with his life cheerfully while knowing all the time 
that death was much more than a possibility. 

When he became acutely ill early in December we all 



3(>e LETTERS OF 

thought that he was in for a long siege in bed to rest up 
his heart, as he had had to do in 191 2. Distressing as that 
was, none of us thought he had gone to his deathbed. I did 
not go home to see him until the middle of January. He 
looked badly, but it did not seem possible for any one 
gravely ill to be as gay as he was. His bed was the centre of 
the house. All interest gravitated to it and all fun radiated 
from it. Mick spent the whole winter on it. He alone had 
"the time of his life." He knew just where to find Caspar, 
and Caspar could not get away from him. His devotion 
was touching and his fun helped Caspar and all of us 
through many dark hours. 

Caspar not only wanted Mick beside him on the bed, but 
he wanted all of us in the room. Mother rarely left. If 
Father were out of the room for any length of time Caspar 
would ask, almost complainingly, "Why does Dad go over 
to Bob's or down to the stable? What does he do with 
himself?" When I was even across the hall writing or dic- 
tating he would ask Mother, "Does Spence have to write 
so many letters?" 

This was a new attitude towards people for him to take 
in sickness. In 191 2, when he was in bed so long, he wanted 
and almost demanded that he be left alone. In 1920 he 
wanted his family and his friends with him constantly. 
They certainly wanted to be with him. His cheerfulness 
and fun were contagious. We all caught it, Father, Mother 
and I rarely left him. The servants came into his room 
on the slightest excuse. The Burtons from next door came 
to the house several times a day, and Emily, Murdock 
and Clarence Burton usually went straight to his room. 
Murdock and Clarence played bridge with him most after- 
noons after work. Emily played too, and declared she 
didn't mind losing money to Caspar. Bridge went on con- 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 367 

stantly. Mr. Hofer was always ready to play and never 
failed to be a joy to Caspar. Tempy and Ruth Briggs 
often played. In fact there was never any difficulty in 
finding two good players to make up a game with Cas- 
par and Father. Mrs. Hofer, Mrs. "Charley" and Mrs. 
"Vach" Anderson played with him and loved to do so, 
but his stand-by was Mrs. George Hoadley. She was al- 
ways ready to come. Towards the end of his illness Caspar 
said, "Mrs. Hoadley doesn't fool me by always being free 
to come. Of course she breaks engagements to do it." 
After that he used to speak of her as " the friend who never 
has an engagement." 

Other friends came in shoals. Bruce and Tempy were 
with him every day. Mark and Sally Mitchell, Ruth 
Briggs, Marie Graydon, Katherine Anderson, Judith Col- 
ston, Marian Field, Hilda Ault, Lincoln Mitchell, Cleves 
Short, Hugh Whittaker, Russell Wilson, the de Gisberts 
and dozens of friends were often at the house and with him 
whenever they were allowed to be. Both doctors and nurses 
were agreed that people helped rather than hurt him. 

Suddenly, on January 23, he took a grave turn for the 
worse. An embolus went from his heart to his lungs. For- 
tunately he coughed it out, but he was acutely ill. We 
were alarmed. Every one except Caspar wanted additional 
medical advice. He withstood us for a few days, but finally 
consented. After much telegraphing for advice we got a 
great heart specialist from Chicago, Dr. Williamson, to 
come in consultation with Dr. Greenebaum and Dr. Frie- 
lander. After examining Caspar Dr. Williamson said to us, 
"He makes the War more real to me than any man I have 
seen. Given his physical limitations I think he did more 
than any man I know for the cause of the Allies." 

Such praise was good to hear, but he had a hard message 



368 LETTERS OF 

for Caspar. He and the Cincinnati doctors recognized that 
Caspar knew too much about hearts and medicines for 
them to be able to hide anything from him. Also they 
knew that his chance for life lay in his complete coopera- 
tion. To win that they told him all they knew about him 
and could hope for him. They told him that everything in 
the way of absolute quiet must be done to prevent other 
embolic attacks. Another might be fatal. They considered 
that, if such an attack could be avoided for another six 
weeks, he would live. They could not give him hope of 
complete recovery. That was a cruel blow to Cap. What 
they called "a very restricted life" meant to him not really 
living. He asked them if he would ever be able to ride 
again. When they saw his disappointment to their nega- 
tive answer, one of them ventured, "Possibly, if it were a 
very gentle horse." Cap turned to me in disgust with, 
"Can you see me mounting a very gentle horse?" 

Shortly after getting the news that if he were to live it 
would be as an invalid Caspar said to Bruce: "The doctors 
told me I couldn't ever play golf again. Golf? As if I care! 
All through the War, whenever I thought I would come out 
of it, there were two things I wanted to do, go back to The 
Labrador and hunt in Ireland. Of course there is no chance 
of my ever doing either of those things again." 

Then he stopped talking about himself and was perfectly 
cheerful. His spirit never broke, even if the life he liked to 
live were ended. Sport, travel, adventure were what he had 
planned for himself. At once he resigned from the Golf 
Club and countermanded an order for a motor. We tried to 
persuade him not to do that. We told him he would need 
it in the spring, especially if he couldn't walk much. His 
reply was, "I 'm not going to have Dad saddled with a car 
he doesn't want." 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 369 

Caspar's only interest in business was to make enough 
money to be free for sport and exploration. As he could 
not look forward to such a life he lost all interest in business 
success. It had no purpose now. 

Fortunately just at this time Mrs. Campbell Fraser had 
come to our house for a visit. She and Caspar were great 
friends, from the war days together in Oxford, Sonning and 
London. She and all of us rallied to Caspar to cheer him 
up that day the blow fell. We were superfluous. Instead he 
kept us laughing all day, when we were in his room, even 
if we had to go out from time to time to gain control of 
ourselves. 

That night, after all the house was quiet, I slipped across 
the hall into Cap's room. The nurse had stepped into the 
bathroom. One reading light on his table focussed on the 
Crucifix beside his bed. He lay in the dim light, face down- 
ward, with arms outstretched, a shadow Crucifix. With- 
out saying a word I put my hand on his shoulder. After an 
intense silence his voice came from the pillows, broken but 
strong, "I'm not going to quit, but I never wanted to so 
much in my life." 

After that night he and I were often alone together, 
friend and friend, brother and brother. Father and spiritual 
son. Three times that week he asked me to bring him the 
Blessed Sacrament from my daily Mass in the oratory 
across the hall. As Father, Mother and all the servants 
knelt there praying for him I carried to him the Precious 
Body and Blood of our Saviour. 

Those were days when I knew why God had made me 
a priest. Those were days when Caspar showed me the 
reaUty of his religion. He always found it hard, almost im- 
possible to talk to any one about his own personal religion. 
In fact he habitually talked on all subjects to reveal his 



370 LETTERS OF 

mind rather than his heart. Sometimes it seemed that he 
talked not to reveal anything, but actually to conceal his 
feelings. Being so constituted it is not strange that he 
didn't often speak of his religion. Also he was shy about 
talking about it, for he felt he had so completely failed to 
live it. During those times alone with him I often thought 
of the Pharisee and the Publican. 

From this time on not many people were allowed in his 
room. Crowds of friends continued to come to the house, 
especially at tea-time. Caspar resented having Mother 
leave him to go to the drawing-room. One day he said, 
" Can't you give those people meal tickets and let them go 
away : 

Every one seemed determined to get as near him as they 
were allowed. He was not permitted to talk much for fear 
of bringing on a cough that would loosen another embolus 
from his heart. It was impossible to be with him and not 
let him talk, for he was so interesting. He was a big talker, 
yet he rarely gossiped and never criticised. Moreover, 
he would not be criticised. To avoid it he would go away to 
another room, another city, another country, or if neces- 
sary another continent. 

He did not read much during his last illness, as he had 
always done before, and he would not let any one read 
aloud to him. He did not finish many of the books that 
were sent him. "Reynard the Fox," by Masefield, which 
Mrs. Barrett Wendell sent him, he read aloud to Mother 
with enthusiasm. Stopping in the middle of it he laid it 
aside, saying, "I can't read much at a time. This is what 
the world was like before Prussianism and reformers 
spoiled it." 

One could not be a monologue artist, and he would take 
his part in general conversation. Cards worked best. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 371 

Bridge and countless games of Canfield were played on the 
table beside his pillow. 

His physicians said there was no chance of his suddenly 
taking a change for the better. He knew I had work to do 
and engagements to keep and urged me to go. It seemed 
best to do so, as staying on would suggest to him that I 
was waiting there for him to die. In fact he said to me: 
"There's no use your waiting here. There isn't going to be 
any crisis. If I get well at all it will be slow work. If I 
cough off another embolus there is no telling where it may 
hit. If it goes to my brain it will be all over in a moment, 
and there's no use your being here for that." 

So I planned to go away to keep my engagements. The 
day before I was to leave I obviously did not want to go. 
He had been acutely ill again. I thought of telegraphing 
my Father Superior for further directions. Caspar jumped 
at that possibility and asked me to telegraph, " Caspar asks 
if I may stay a few days longer." 

I returned to him March i. He had had grave times and 
astonishing recoveries. In spite of his spirit and of his 
power to pick up, he looked much worse, even if he were al- 
lowed to sit up in a chair each day. I was not the only one 
who had gone a long way to see him. Helen Eraser had 
come from Texas, Schofield Andrews from Philadelphia, 
Henry Wilder from Boston, Charley and Camilla Shqrt 
from New York, and Dr. and Mrs. Grenfell had altered 
their schedule of lectures so as to go to him when they 
did. 

When Caspar received this letter from Dr. Grenfell his 
eyes filled with tears and his lip quivered as he said, 
"Please put that away. I want to keep it." 



372 LETTERS OF 

Boston, Mar. 4, '20. 

Dear Caspar, 

I HAVE only today heard of your sickness, and I at once 
want you to know how deeply sorry I am. You aren't the 
kind that lets people know you care about emotional things, 
and yet you can't get away always. We all developed a 
very real affection for you in the North. Perhaps we did 
not say much about it at the time — but you came like a 
bolt from the blue and helped us, and myself especially, 
when I was in a good stiff fight, and needed all the encour- 
.agement I could get. We have been getting on the top 
of late, and soon shall have "Bay Hospitals" all round 
Newf'l'd. We were all prinking our feathers, when we 
heard of your work "over the top" in France. Your name 
went ringing all along the old Coast. Every one heard of 
your work in the trench and your wounds. 

Now every one will be awful sorry that it is you again 
"who need the physicians," and we all want you to feel we 
think of you in your trouble — and whether you value it 
or not, we pray you may be given that comfort and peace 
which comes from faith in the dignity and value of life — 
as the forerunner of continuous life — and sons of the ever- 
lasting God. You can't get away from these things, so 
take it with good grace, that we are serious both in our 
affection and our prayers. 

We are to be in Cincinnati soon — i.e., I am — and we 
shall hope to shake the flipper yet of a convalescent former 
comrade — fitted to "carry on" here on earth for a long 
while yet. 

Ever affectionately yours, 

Wilfred Grenfell. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 373 

Camilla Short wrote, before she arrived, these words of 
praise that were also a help to Caspar: 

Mount Kisco, New York. 
My dearest Byrd, 

What can I say — if I possibly could I would take the 

next train and ask Caspar to put heart into me — he would 

do that I know however ill he was. I can't help thinking 

that "The Great Adventure" is still far off from him — 

he is such a plucky spirit that he is bound to face it as such 

when it does come, but at the same time to make a big 

stand for the rest of life here. You know that we love him 

— what more can I say. 

Tenderly, 

Camilla. 

Another letter that he especially appreciated came from 
Mrs. Bowlker, of Boston: 

282 Beacon Street. 
Dear Caspar, 

Spence has just told me of your long illness, of your 
tremendous courage, and of your cheerful patient endur- 
ance. These are the qualities that I have seen again and 
again in wounded soldiers, they are the magnificent, heroic 
qualities of true men. I always recognized them in you, and 
loved you for them, but I cannot bear that you should be 
put to so terrible a test. It is far harder for you than death 
on the battle-field or the quick death as the result of fight- 
ing that came to James. 

I wish so deeply that I were near, just to drop in and say, 
"Well done, and good luck to you in the future." 

Don't be downcast; I know so many cases that the doc- 



374 LETTERS OF 

tors have pronounced incurable, yet the patient has not 
only lived, but grown almost as strong as well people. I 
shall look forward to this result for you. It is small com- 
fort to be a hero, but remember we all know you as one. 

Affectionately, 

K. BOWLKER. 

The devotion of his friends meant a lot to Cap, and he 
was touched by their having travelled far to see him. 
Henry Wilder, in a letter written after Caspar's death, 
sums up what I think all of us who went to see him felt; 
" I doubt if any one was fonder of the old fellow and more 
proud of him than I, and he was game until the end. I went 
to Cincinnati to try to cheer him up, but one would have 
thought that I was the one to be amused." 

As I stayed on day after day in Lent Caspar said to 
Mother; "Scho and Henry were only able to stay a day or 
two. I know Spence is as busy as they are. How can he 
stay? I suppose he is just letting all his Lenten work slide. 
And I notice he doesn't write letters this time." 

Indeed I didn't write letters during that visit. I wanted 
to be with him every minute. I often held him in my arms 
as he gasped for breath. He spoke to me of religion more 
easily this time. It would not be fair to him to write of 
much he said, but I must share one remark. 

"I met men in the trenches," he said, "who declared 
they didn't believe in life after death. They lie. They do 
believe in it. That's all bluff. They know that, when they 
are alive one minute, a shell hitting them doesn't annihilate 
them. God knows I've done enough to wreck my faith, 
but somehow I haven't succeeded." 

Caspar expressed his religion in kindness, prayer and 
sacrifice. He never appreciated the value of sermons, 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 375 

psalms, hymns, litanies and all the devotions he found in 
what he called "darling little pious books." I know he 
prayed when he was alone, especially in the wilderness. 
When he went to church it was for Holy Communion. In 
the great moments of his life he wanted our Lord and he 
knew he received Him in the Blessed Sacrament. Those 
were blessed Communions he made in March at my hands. 
There was no divorce between sacred and secular in Cas- 
par's sick-room or in his mind. Life was a unity and 
characteristic of Caspar through and through. On one side 
of his bed was the crucifix, on the other a card table. Mick 
was usually in the room, intensely interested. At the foot 
of his bed was an improvised altar with two candles burn- 
ing. Beside him knelt his nurse to make her Communion 
with him, and propped up on the pillows lay Caspar pale 
and reverent. 

During that last visit together he and I talked without 
constraint. He could not see that he was of any use in the 
world. It hurt us to hear him speak of what a source of 
anxiety and trouble he had been to his family. We tried 
hard to show him how essential he was to us, to our happi- 
ness, and how we loved him. He thought Father and 
Mother had each other and that my life was full, that none 
of us really needed him. He dreaded the life of an invahd. 
Mother, Scho and I tried to tell him that he had always 
been so busy using his body that he had never half used 
his mind, and now that he would get his happiness by using 
it. He did not contradict us, but he was not convinced. I 
begged him to try to live for our sakes, even if he did not 
care to for his own. Nothing we could say could make him 
believe he was not a failure. He knew his family and his 
friends loved him. That was a real happiness to him, but 
he could not say so. He knew how to love, but he did not 



376 LETTERS OF 

know how to make love. He felt that in that too he was a 
failure. 

At this time he lost the money he had invested in his new 
business, solely because he had not been able to take care 
of it. That was a bitter pill for him to swallow. He 
thought he had failed again. "I should hke just once to be 
connected with success," he said. 

"How about the Allies' Victory?" Mother asked. "You 
were in the war four years." 

"Yes," he said, "and the damned politicians are spoil- 
ing that." 

Making friends, and dying for them, was the work of his 
life. Never was a life-work more completely a success. 

One of the last friends he made, and one of the most 
devoted, was his nurse, Mrs. MacAdam. She was a gift 
from God. She had just the characteristics of skill, fun and 
complete lack of fussiness that Caspar liked. She had been 
a nurse in the A.E.F., and so they had war experience in 
common. I do not think they ever got on each other's 
nerves in all those sixteen weeks of suffering and gaiety, 
cheerfulness and dying. One morning she came down to 
breakfast laughing over a remark of his to her during the 
night. He had had a night of gasping for breath. To re- 
lieve him she held him up in her arms. While in that posi- 
tion he said to her, "My, Mrs. Mac, I'm glad you are 
middle-aged and plain." 

She answered, "Why, I am not middle-aged, and I never 
thought of myself as plain." 

To that he answered, "Well, you are both." 

It is easy to see why he died unmarried. 

One day Mother came home from a funeral conducted 
by a Unitarian minister and complained of its coldness. 
Caspar said to her: "You have lots of troubles, but wor- 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 377 

rying how you will be buried is not one of them. Spence 
will bury us up to the hilt and his way will be right. I 
should as soon tell a great artist how to paint a picture as 
to tell Spence what to do." 

We all recognized that he was thinking about his own 
burial and giving me a vote of confidence. In this same con- 
nection he spoke of how he loathed "sloppy ceremonial" 
in the Army or in the Church. "Ceremonial ought to be 
ceremonious," he said. "Dehver me from cozy, homey 
funerals in the parlor." He disliked equally what he called 
"exercises over the dear departed." I remember him com- 
ing home one day in Boston from the funeral of an intimate 
friend, and saying, "For Heaven's sake, don't have a pro- 
gramme over my body, but say a prayer for my poor soul." 

One morning, shortly before his death, he said to Mother: 
"I had such a curious dream, last night. I dreamed I was 
dead, and of course I wanted *C. Hof for one of my pall- 
bearers. He said he wanted to wear his old brown hat, but 
Mrs. Hofer was insisting that he wear his silk hat. I was 
trying to say to her, 'Woman, I don't want the man's hat. 
I want the man.'" 

Although he spoke indirectly of his death during those 
last weeks, he and all of us talked of what his life would be. 
When he got up he planned to go to Boston to consult 
certain physicians there who had had experience in France 
with chest wounds. He said to Henry Wilder, "I may be 
on to visit you in the spring, and I '11 stay a month — if 
I come at all." 

Mother planned to get Astin to come from England to 
be his valet. Cap thought that a great extravagance, but 
he said he could think of no one he would be so glad to have 
take care of him as Astin. 

We all took care of him at this time, in the way of hold- 



378 LETTERS OF 

ing him up to enable him to get his breath and also by 
holding his head while he vomited. Almost everything he 
ate came up. The nearest he came to complaining was, 
"I wish some of this damn stuff would take the subway 
instead of the elevated." 

On March 12 Dr. Grenfell came. He was a great joy to 
Caspar. I left that same day to return to my routine work. 
Caspar looked very badly then, but he was sitting up each 
day and the doctors assured me that he was in no imme- 
diate danger of death. I planned to leave at noon, on the 
only through train to Boston. Caspar was having a bad 
morning. It was hard to leave. As the time for me to go 
drew near, Cap said: "You know there is an evening train, 
don't you, Spencey ? It doesn't connect anywhere and you'll 
probably be hours late, but it will get you back in time for 
your services Sunday." 

Of course I waited for it. All afternoon there seemed 
nothing to say, as if we were waiting in a railway station. 
At last the evening came. He and I had a prayer together. 
I gave him a blessing and there was a last embrace. Both 
of us felt, I know, that it might be the last, but one could 
not have a scene with Cap. I was off into the night, leaving 
him with Father, Mother, Dr. Grenfell, Mrs. MacAdam 
and Mick — at home. After I had gone he said to Mother: 
"I tried to send Spencey off feeling good, but it was too 
much for me. I couldn't quite do it." 

That evening Dr. Grenfell began to lecture in Cincinnati. 
Everywhere he praised Caspar, his work in the North, 
his service in the war, his gay heroism in suffering. Cin- 
cinnati people could never again think of Caspar as only a 
genial and witty loafer. Dr.Grenfell's words carried weight. 
He had facts to tell and a great Christian love and admira- 
tion for Caspar. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 379 

After a few days he went, and Caspar was alone in the 
house with Father and Mother. It was good that they 
should have had him to themselves that last week. For- 
tunately he seemed better than he had for months. Their 
letters were full of hope, yet Mother's conviction that he 
was dying grew stronger. Against all the doctors said, her 
maternal instinct was true. It seemed supernatural. 

On Sunday Caspar asked if Father Boggess would bring 
him the Blessed Sacrament next morning. Early Monday 
morning he asked Mother to telephone Father Boggess not 
to come. He had had to have morphine in the night and 
said, "I won't make my Communion when I'm dopey." 

Wednesday noon he got much worse. It was obvious 
that he was dying. Father and Mother never left him. 
Twice in his agony he said, "Why couldn't I have gone out 
over there like Dill and the rest?" At three Mother said to 
him, "Father Boggess is here with the Blessed Sacrament 
now, instead of on Monday when you asked him to come. 
Don't you want to make your Communion?" 

"Why, may I receive in the afternoon?" he asked. 

"Yes, when you are very ill," Mother replied. Caspar 
understood, for he said, "I must be very bad then. Yes, I 
do want to make my Communion." 

By that time he was so weak from hemorrhages that he 
could ha'rdly speak. As he lay silent in Father's arms with 
his eyes closed. Father and Mother made the general con- 
fession for him, and Caspar said "Amen." Father Boggess 
pronounced the absolution and communicated him. Then 
Caspar raised his voice and recited the Lord's Prayer so 
that he was distinctly heard by friends praying in the ora- 
tory and by other friends downstairs. From his cross he 
cried out "with a loud voice." His sacrifice was almost 
finished. "Father, into Thy hands." 



38o CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 

In his father's arms he lay for three hours more as his 
heart pounded itself to pieces. 

"Now there stood by the Cross of Jesus His Mother.'* 
The holy mother is ever there, praying. 

There were not many words said, no messages of good- 
bye. Caspar was Caspar to the end, loving, unable to ex- 
press his love, courageous, generous, true. Twice he looked 
off with a steady gaze, as if to Someone coming from far 
away. He said nothing, but love cried out through the hand 
that patted Mother's and through the other hand that 
held fast to Father. 

At six o'clock the fight was over, the victory won. 



II 

FOR EVER 

"Thirty years among us dwelling, 
His appointed time fulfilled, 
Born for this he meets his Passion, 
For that this he freely willed: 
On the Cross the Lamb is lifted, 
Where his life-blood shall be spilled." 

At last the dawn. The news of Caspar's death had 
reached me at Albany towards midnight. By the first 
light that came through the car window I read from my 
breviary those lines of the hymn for Passiontide. Surely 
we may reverently apply to Christ's members words writ- 
ten of Him. 

At last evening came. As I continued to gaze out of the 
window, 

"The golden evening brightens in the west; 
Soon, soon to faithful warriors cometh rest; 
Sweet is the calm of Paradise the blest. 
Alleluia, Alleluia." 

That glorious sunset seemed God's welcome to his son. It 
was as if the angels were clapping and shouting, "Encore, 
Encore." The thought came from Chesterton's "Ortho- 
doxy," to Caspar's mind the great modern apology for 
Christianity. Close by this passage I find these sentences: 
"Oscar Wilde said that sunsets were not valued because we 
could not pay for sunsets. But Oscar Wilde was wrong; we 
can pay for sunsets. We can pay for them by not being 
Oscar Wilde." 

So Caspar paid for the sunset of his life, "by not being 



382 LETTERS OF 

Oscar Wilde." He chose, instead of softness, sacrijfice. 
The inevitable end of that is glory. 

In the darkness Father and I motored from the station 
to the house, but there we found light. I hurried to the 
room where thirteen days before I had left Caspar trying 
to smile out of an exhausted, broken body. He had won his 
fight. "The last enemy to be overcome is death." 

Caspar's body lay silent and majestic. The flags, under 
which he had fought for truth and righteousness, the Stars 
and Stripes and the Union Jack, covered him. A single 
palm lay on them. Mother knelt beside him. Nobility 
dries up tears. From a broken heart I could say. Amen 
and Alleluia. 

His friends came in a steady stream. Each and all felt the 
awe of his presence and the im.pulse to pray. His room 
seemed to have become a place of pilgrimage, a shrine to 
which we all came. Helen Eraser was the first from a dis- 
tance to get there. She arrived an hour after he died. 
Three months later she wrote from the Battlefields: 
" When we were motoring between Amiens and Peronne 
the look of the country reminded me suddenly of how 
Caspar looked when I first saw him that Wednesday night, 
a look of great peace and calm and aloofness, great rest 
after a terrific battle. All that countryside looked so still. 
We saw no one for miles and miles, and yet there was no 
devastation visible out of sight of the towns. All the torn- 
up country was covered with a vivid green growth, and with 
masses of poppies and mustard. And yet the poppies and 
mustard didn't give it a banal, merely pretty, look. One 
knew and felt what was under the gentle covering, and if 
one hadn't the imagination to be conscious of it the piles of 
pine coffins stacked up by the roadside wherever any at- 
tempt was being made to cultivate the land would have re- 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 383 

minded one of what had raged over this now peaceful 
country for four years." 

M. de Gisbert came bringing with him the perfect tribute. 
He had two palms of victory, tipped with gold as in the 
fresco in the Pantheon, "Vers la gloire." They were tied 
with the Tricolor. On a card he had inscribed: 

" Au nom de la France 
Adieu 
Lieut. C. Burton 
Merci " 

Standing at the foot of Caspar's body he said to Mother: 
"Madame, I do not presume to thank mon boy in my own 
name, but in the name of France. Had there not been brave 
men like Cap there would no longer be a France." 

So he placed the palms of victory on his dear boy's body. 
In Caspar's completed sacrifice the Tricolor of France was 
with the flags of Great Britain and his own America. 

We all gravitated to his room and were about his bed as 
we had been when he was alive. Only Mick was uninter- 
ested in his body. Mick had lived on his bed all winter. 
Suddenly he took no interest in it. The person he loved 
was not there. He had instinct unclouded by reason. He 
was in the room with us most of the time and subdued, but 
he never tried to jump onto the bed beside Caspar's body. 
For him Caspar was gone. 

On Friday afternoon we moved Caspar's body from his 
bed onto a low bier before the altar in the oratory. The 
flags and the palms still covered him. Around him burned 
six tall wax candles. All night long we watched and prayed. 

Caspar was at last enthroned. All his life he had shunned 
recognition of good deeds done. In his death he was trium- 
phant. His body looked so little lying there, and yet 



384 LETTERS OF 

majestic. One can use no smaller word. There was in his 
face and in his form the dignity of accomplishment, the 
nobility of sacrijfice. All through the silent night the 
flickering candles lighted up the face that was turned to 
the altar Crucifix. 

As I knelt there that night our lives unrolled before me. 
I had wanted for him success, even if I had chosen for my- 
self sacrifice. What I had professed he had accomplished. 
The Crucifix around my neck truly belonged to him. In its 
place I took the little Cross he had worn throughout the 
War. I remembered my daily prayer for him, "God, give 
him a great and noble purpose in life, and grace to fulfil it." 
We pray more generously than we know. It hurts to have 
our prayers answered. 

In the early morning there were the Requiem and the 
Absolutions in the presence of his body. Only his family, 
the servants and a few intimate friends were with us there, 
solely because there was so little room in our family ora- 
tory. Father and Mother knelt at his head and together 
made their Communions for him. 

"Whoso eateth My flesh and drinketh My blood hath 
eternal life: and I will raise him up at the last day." 

The funeral was from Grace Church, Avondale, where 
he had been baptized and confirmed and where he had 
made his First Communion. His body lay, still under the 
flags and palms, before the altar Crucifix which is a me- 
morial to our Grandfather Spence. The church was crowded 
with his friends. They loved him and they venerated his 
sacrifice. Yet he died convinced that he was a failure. 
God has a difi^erent judgment, "Greater love hath no man 
than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends." 

Those words are carved on his Cross. We buried him 
beside our other soldier, his Grandfather Burton, who had 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 385 

fought almost a century before in the Mexican War. They 
were alike in many ways, in their weakness and in their 
strength. Both of them were adventurous, generous and 
lovable. 

"God hath a will to be done, not in earth only, but also 
in heaven; they are not dismissed from the King's business 
who are called from the camp to the court." 

From the hour of his death, and during the six months 
since, scores of telegrams, cablegrams and letters of sym- 
pathy, admiration and love have come to us. It would be 
impossible to print them all. Already we have included in 
notes to his letters many sentences from these letters which 
seem to add to the picture of Caspar. Many more letters 
remain. From among them we have chosen parts of these 
few, not because they are dearer to us than the others, 
but because they show the wide circle of friends who love 
and admire him. 

Letters from soldiers must come first. 

From his Commanding Officer: 

Junior United Service Club, 

London, S.W. i, 
13 June, 1920. 

Dear Mrs. Burton, 

I HEARD through Col. Allen of the sad news that your 
son Caspar had died of his wounds and I am writing to 
assure you of my heartiest sympathy. I well remember his 
gallantry in May, 191 7, during an attack on the Hinden- 
burg Line and for which I recommended him for the Mili- 
tary Cross. 

I met him again for a short time when he was with the 
American Army and hoped he had recovered from his 
wounds. It is more than ever hard to think that after re- 
turning home he should have had a relapse. 



386 LETTERS OF 

It all seems a long time ago now and much has happened 
since, but I shall always remember Caspar and feel proud 
that so brave a young cousin came and joined the Battalion. 
With kindest regards, 

Yours sincerely, 

E. M. Beall, Lt. Col, 
4 Bn.., The Kings Regt. 

From his military servant. 

Astin always referred to him as "Mr. Burton" before his 
death ; but after that he was " Caspar," "more of a chum to 
me than my Officer": 

77 Athal St., Burnley, Lanes., Eng. 
20-5-20. 

Dear Mr. Burton, 

I received your letter of the 4th inst. last night the 
19th. It is with very great regret that I write these few 
lines. I cannot pretend to tell you here how surprised I was 
when I opened your letter to see that Caspar, your dear 
son, and my Officer and friend, was dead. It seems such 
hard luck after nearly two years of peace to die from 
wounds received so long since. I have not been able to get 
it out of my mind at work today. I have had so many little 
incidents coming before my mind's eye. How plainly I can 
remember the trench where your son received the wounds 
that have proved mortal. I can remember the whole " stunt " 
from beginning to end. It was Caspar who told me to get 
away from the trench when I was wounded, and then when 
I was at the Clearing Station afterwards he was carried in 
himself and of course I could see then that he was seriously 
wounded and even then he asked me if I was feeling al- 
right. He had a very rough time coming down from the line 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 387 

with the shaking of the ambulance. That was the last time 
I saw him. I have often wished I could see him again. I got 
to understand him very well indeed and he has often told 
me that I knew what he wanted better than he did himself. 
He got to be more of a Chum to me than my Officer and 
I could not help but do my best for him. All the boys in the 
Company liked him and also the lads on the Transport. 
I have often thought of him and have spoken of that so 
much at home that my Father and Mother both feel as if 
they knew him well. I can remember quite well most of the 
things in general while we were together in France. I can- 
not express in words what I feel by the loss of Caspar as he 
was a good friend to me and what I liked best he was very 
straight and did not mix things that he wanted to say. I 
now offer my deepest sympathy to you and Mrs. Burton 
and truly hope and trust that time will heal the wound 
caused by your great loss. My Father and my Mother and 
my young lady wish to offer their heartfelt sympathy in 
this your time of grief. I shall be very pleased to hear from 
you again and to see you when you come to England again. 
I am so glad I have a Photo of him in Uniform. 
I remain. 

Yours sincerely, 

Horace Astin. 

From the Commanding Officer of his company of cadets in 
Oxford: 

Keble College, Oxford, 

April 25, 1920. 

My dear Father Burton, 

I HAVE to thank you very much for your letter of April 
4th, but also to say how very sorry I am to hear of Caspar's 
death. He was a great fellow — a remarkable fellow and 



388 LETTERS OF 

quite a notable man in that company. I am so sorry that 
his sterling sense of duty and his patriotism and enthusiasm 
for the right has resulted in his death. His old comrades 
in my old company will be very sorry to hear it too. I 
think one of his old instructors is an undergraduate here 
now. 

Please accept my very sincere sympathy with you and 
yours in the loss of a fine fellow of most unusual character. 

I am 

Yours sincerely, 

F. W. Matheson. 

From Col. Colston, of Cincinnati, a veteran of the Civil 
War, and Caspar's friend all his life, came roses with this 
card: 

For my 

"Little Hero" 
Edward Colston, 
March 26, '20. 

The following letters are placed roughly in the order in 
which the writers were connected with Caspar: 

From Miss Furness, his teacher, when he was eight 
years old, in the Avondale Public School. She first saw 
Caspar when she was my teacher and he was only two 
years old. Her letter shows moi*e insight into his nature 
than almost any we have received. 

Avondale, July, 1920. 
My dear Spence: 

Hard as it has been to set down in cold words my feeling 
for him, I am most glad to pay some small tribute to the 
boy I loved and the young man I honored. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 389 

One of the most vivid memories of the year I began to 
teach is my first sight of Caspar. He came trotting through 
your mother's room where we sat just before luncheon, a 
sturdylittle figure in a stiff white dress, head held character- 
istically high, intent upon some business of his own, which 
nothing could be permitted to interfere with. His supreme 
indifference to their blandishments amused your mother 
and your aunt. "You see. Miss Furness," said your 
mother, "what you will have to face in a few years." 

Half a dozen years later, Caspar came to me in the 
old Avondale School. The Third Grade — known as the 
"Second Reader" in those days — was quartered away 
from the main building in half of what had been the Council 
Chamber of the Old Town Hall. We were an isolated com- 
munity over there, unusually self-dependent for those years 
of conformity to a prescribed educational pattern, and we 
were a bit freer than most, to go our own way in the paths of 
learning. Even so, I looked with some trepidation, I con- 
fess, upon Caspar's advent, for he had the reputation of 
not fitting into the educational scheme. In my own mind 
I was not willing to trim him down for the sake of the 
pattern, though the exigencies of the system always had to 
be reckoned with. He never did fit in orthodox manner. 
The routine work he accepted with more or less grace, but 
not much enthusiasm. He did it because it was part of the 
game, but he was no born student. . . . The Second Reader 
he endured because it must be learned, but stories of ad- 
venture or heroism and bits of romantic geography sur- 
reptitiously inserted into that arid "Course of Study" 
always brought the lift to his head, and the sparkle to 
his eyes. 

In a class of unusually individual boys and girls he 
stands out in my mind as one of the most potent personali- 



390 LETTERS OF 

ties. He attracted the other pupils, he hked them, and they 
liked him in a thoroughly affectionate, democratic fashion. 
He always played a game, fair and square to the end, with- 
out undue exultation at success, or whining at defeat. Once 
— and this is the only instance of discipline I remember — 
he had been bothering every one about him with some bit 
of impish mischief, and I had spoken to him several times 
with no effect. Finally I said, "Caspar, since you wi// act 
like a baby, I must treat you hke one." With that I took 
him on my lap and held him for five or ten minutes till we 
finished the lesson, and then sent him back to his seat. He 
said nothing, it was sufficient punishment and one which 
fitted the offence, but I have always had an uneasy feehng 
about it in my own mind. There was the faintest shadow of 
reproach in his eyes, as if a friend had unexpectedly failed 
to understand, and I sometimes doubt whether I touched 
too roughly that deep and sacred pride of his. For, little 
fellow though he was, he had it — a pride of training, a 
pride of inheritance, a personal pride and dignity of spirit 
beneath his apparent carelessness of manner. He might 
be indifferent, but in his code, no gentleman could be dis- 
courteous. He might offend, but no son of his family could 
stoop to meanness. He might do wrong, but Caspar Bur- 
ton could not condescend to a he. Whatever the conse- 
quences, he faced the truth, and spoke and acted it, with 
utter fearlessness. He hated anything cruel or unjust. 
His occasional fierce little gusts of temper, which doubled 
up his fists or made him defy all authority, were always 
called out by some act which did not look fair to him, 
quite as often in behalf of others as of himself. 

In spite of his frank and friendly attitude toward us all, 
I was always aware of a delicate veil of reserve, of a kind 
of shyness, an aloofness, entirely unconscious on his part. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 391 

as much an element in his spiritual make-up as was his fine 
responsiveness to certain ideas and ideals the others did not 
always show. What others might think of him apparently 
entered not at all into his scheme of personal conduct. Yet 
under his seeming thoughtlessness and stoicism lay a pas- 
sionate desire for understanding and affection from those 
whom he cared for, which he hid as effectively as though 
he had been years older. His indifference, instinctively as- 
sumed to defend a deeply sensitive heart, he wore as 
proudly as ever knight of old his armor. A gallant little 
figure, with his dark bright eyes, and head proudly erect, 
he marched through that year, wistful, happy, careless, 
courageous, destined, I clearly saw, for all the depths and 
heights of sorrow and joy that await a human soul. 

When, a year ago, I saw him again, when he spoke at 
Hughes High School, he was the same gallant figure of my 
memories. In spite of pain he held his head as though it 
wore a knightly crest, his eyes looked into mine with the 
same light-hearted smile, his voice had the never forgotten 
intonation, half wistful, half daring, wholly winning. No 
hero could have been more simple and modest in his esti- 
mation of his own deeds. Moreover, through the heroism 
of the man breathed the charm of the boy. It was as the 
born leader of men that he had answered the summons to 
his chivalrous soul. The service with Dr. Grenfell, the 
noble spirit that sent him into the War, the consecration 
to the mission of brotherhood after the fighting, they were 
all his inevitable destiny. All that he promised to be, in the 
Council Chamber of the Old Town Hall, I saw fulfilled in 
its finest form. 

That last day of all, I sat in the back of the Church, 
alone. Spring was in the air, with all its sweetness and 
promise. Throughout the service a cardinal, high up on a 



392 LETTERS OF 

tree just beyond the window at my side, sang glad and 
triumphant, rejoicing in the light and life that had con- 
quered darkness and death. And in all my grief and 
heaviness of heart I could not but feel that all is well with 
Caspar's gallant soul. 

Mary Baker Furness. 

From Dr. Grenfell: 

Chicago, March 25, '20. 

Dear Mrs. Burton, 

The scenes in his bedroom these last days will never be 
effaced from my memory till we meet again — and I can 
thank him — who so bravely showed just what the Master 
would do in pain, in what I am certain he knew was his 
"via dolorosa." How he succeeded in making you, who 
loved him dearer than life, able to bear happily those ter- 
rible days and even prepared joyfully to face with him, 
that which you know he feared more than death, a long- 
drawn-out period of inefficiency and dependency. 

God has willed it otherwise. . . . 

Dr. Grenfell writes in the July, 1920, number of "Among 
the Deep-Sea Fishers": 

CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 

War is hell and no war is ever over. Its baneful ripples 
forever leave their imprint on mankind. 

Some eight years ago a young Harvard graduate came 
North to help us in our work in Labrador. By day or night, 
in summer or winter, over the land by dog-sledge or over 
the sea in boats, he was always ready to go at a moment's 
notice to carry help to the man in need. His training in the 
rudiments of medicine, for he had spent a year and a half 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 393 

at the Harvard Medical School, made him doubly helpful 
to us and to the Coast. His irrepressible good nature 
made him see humor in positions that to others would have 
been discouraging and repellent. His invariably smiling 
face made him welcome in every cottage along our long 
shores. On many an errand of mercy he was the real effec- 
tive, for he learned to know the long trails, and how to pilot 
tenderfoot workers to their destination as unerringly as he 
directed the motor yawls he loved so well, through the 
tortuous channels of our uncharted coastline. If there was 
a job to be done that needed tough work, long hours, and 
that seemed more monotonous than usual, too readily it 
was assumed "Oh, Caspar will go," and he always did. 
On one long trip we made together in the sailing yawl 
Floradel, from Indian Harbor to St. Anthony, we pressed 
on day and night, as we were short to time and eager to 
make the hospital. It was in the late fall and there was 
much ice about the thin wooden sides of the little vessel. 
It was an exciting trip, for in the long darkness storms un- 
foreseen arrived and no friendly lighthouse was there to 
give us a chance to make harbor till daylight broke. It 
was my luck to be captain and doctor. A famous Prince- 
ton football captain was able seaman, mate and larboard 
watch. Caspar, as usual, assumed the hard jobs; was cook, 
steward, and general factotum, below decks — an exacting 
task enough for any man under the conditions. Still he 
would join me on the watch. It was on such occasions I 
learned to love the real Caspar, camouflaged so cleverly be- 
hind an attitude so light-hearted to the world that at times 
it seemed almost cynical. I was content to be sleeping be- 
low if Caspar was at the helm. 

After three years, war broke out, and with his experi- 
ence of surgical work he felt the British Red Cross might 



394 LETTERS. OF 

accept his services. Freely, without one cent of remuner- 
ation, he had ever served our people in times of peace. It 
was so characteristic of him that he, an American, should 
at once respond to this new call to serve for the world — and 
just as gladly he has now laid down his life for his ideals. 
His hospital of white canvas plastered with red crosses 
was bombed in broad daylight three miles behind the Bel- 
gian lines by a German aviator. 

Caspar at once volunteered for fighting service and en- 
listed as a British "Tommy." He was recommended for 
the Military Cross for heroic work near Bullecourt. Badly 
wounded in his successful enterprise of turning the enemy 
from half a mile of trench, while lying in England in 
hospital his case was somehow overlooked — a fact his 
mind only laughed at. Though really unfit to rejoin the 
army, when America entered the war nothing could re- 
strain him and though twice rejected he was at last ap- 
pointed first lieutenant and again saw front line service. 

But he had been more severely hurt than his best friends 
knew, and when we met again, he was on his last sick- 
bed at his home in Cincinnati. Worn and ill as he was not 
one iota of his optimism and courage had left him. He 
had suffered — God only knows how keenly — but he 
had won out, and was prepared to face even the life of a 
crippled man. We learned many lessons in the sick-room 
of this brave young hero to whom God has now spared the 
trial that he feared above all else. 

The Kingdom of God cannot be built on earth by words 
— vital as propaganda is recognized to be — it is what we 
do that speaks loudly and is heard. The only force that can 
ever build the universal kingdom that shall be eternal is 
the force of love and that spreads only by contagion from 
one life to another. To some is given the gift of tongues. 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 29^ 

Be grateful those who have it. To Caspar Burton it was 
given to see the vision and to follow it. He leaves behind, 
in the hearts of those who knew him, an echo of that same 
love that counted itself as naught — that eternal force 
making for righteousness and peace which is man's high- 
est dignity and glory however feebly here on earth he re- 
flects it. 

With the many who have given their lives for ours, we 
shall meet him in the ranks of those who were faithful unto 
death, and to whom a righteous judge can say, "Well 
done." 

W. T. G. 

From Arthur Gleason, of the Hector Munro Ambulance 
Corps: 

It was a forlorn section of the world to which Caspar 
Burton came in July of 191 5. He came to Coxyde to help in 
the work of the Hector Munro Ambulance Corps. Coxyde 
was one of the dreary villages in the tiny strip of Belgium 
held by the Allies. It lay just south of Nieuport — the 
northern end of the battle-line. The one street was churned 
into dust by the motor lorries that went by in an unending 
stream, carrying food and ammunition to the soldiers just 
beyond. Troops were trudging along every moment of the 
day and night — going to the attack and returning en re- 
pos. The wounded came back along that road in ambu- 
lances as swiftly-moving as the pain of the occupants per- 
mitted. Funerals marched quietly on the village street to 
the church at the bend of the road. And over the quick 
and the dead and the wounded, over food and lodging, 
hovered thick attacking swarms of flies. 

It was a strange mixed group to which Burton came. 
Those were the early unorganized days when volunteer help 



396 LETTERS OF 

was needed and valued. The Hector Munro Corps had a 
dashing West End society woman, the daughter of an earl, 
a distinguished woman novelist, a London banker, pro- 
fessional chauffeurs. It had distributed itself over several 
sections. The Coxyde group, which Caspar Burton joined, 
had Gilling, an English gentleman, Andrew McEwen, a 
sturdy Scotch chauffeur, and two Americans, one of them 
Robert Cardell Toms. 

The ambulance run, which Burton made with Gilling, 
Andrew McEwen, and Robert Toms, was from Coxyde to 
Nieuport — a distance of four miles. Nieuport was a shell- 
wrecked village by the sand dunes, and was held by the 
famous Fusiliers Marins — the French Marines — and 
by the Turcos. The wounded were brought in from the 
trenches to the dressing stations in the cellars of fallen 
houses. Here the Munro Corps found them and put them 
into the ambulance cars, and carried them to Zuydcoote 
Hospital — fifteen miles away. 

Burton was a delight to our little group. He had a lit- 
erary background and talked well and with a light touch. 
He had come from a vigorous sojourn with Grenfell of 
Labrador. He was trained in medical relief work. He 
cheered us up among the flies and dirt of the Cafe du Sport 
and the straw billets of the peasant's house where we slept, 
with some twenty other men in service. I shall not forget 
how good it was to know him in the monotony and misery 
of that summer of 191 5. War is made up of long periods of 
dreary waiting, and then a swift horror. In those times of 
waiting, he and I had good talks together. His companion- 
ship is one of the few pleasant and healing recollections I 
have of those evil years. No memory is more certain to 
live than that of one who gave courage and sanity among 
almost intolerable surroundings. I shall always remember 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 397 

Caspar Burton's humor and good will and the charm of his 
talk. He was gentle and kindly and brave. 

Miss Oborne, at whose house 6;^ High Street, Oxford, he 
often lodged, writes: 

"Well, he gave his life for us. He seemed to see things 
very clearly, because he had the gift of simplicity. As 
Father Congreve once said to me of Fr. O'Neill, 'He was 
the greatest of us, he was the most simple.'" 

Mr. Boyce Allen, of Oxford, whose arguments convinced 
Caspar that he ought to get a commission, writes: 

" Caspar's death from his wounds touches me nearly, for 
he sustained them while in the British service, which he 
entered so gallantly as a private long before there was any 
obligation whatever on him to concern himself in the war 
at all. I always felt his enlisting was a very noble act, for 
he faced not only danger, but, what most young men mind 
much more, extreme personal discomfort and hardship, 
and all for an ideal, higher even than patriotism. His ex- 
ample and that of other young Americans like him must 
have had an influence on bringing your country into the 
war and so saving the world from a German victory. You 
and Mrs. Burton have a proud memory of him, I can 
speak of that, but not of the sorrow you are bearing now. 
I can only say that I feel for you with all my heart." 

Sir Herbert Warren, President of Magdalen College, 
Oxford, who had recommended Caspar for a commission, 
writes: 

"Your sympathy brought us much comfort, and specially 
helpful and sweet was the example of your dear and truly 
gallant and chivalrous son giving himself, in a sense more 



398 LETTERS OF 

unselfishly if that were possible even than our own dear 
young fellows, because he would not see wrong done with- 
out trying to fight it. Then his modesty, his humour and 
his cheeriness, which seem more wonderful now when one 
realizes how much physically he had to fight against, 
were very engaging and delightful. I shall not soon forget 
him." 

Lady Warren writes: 

"How fine he was and what a joy that one so fine was 
your very own — your precious possession. How you must 
live over the joy he gave you. It was so splendid of him, 
for he simply gave himself for the cause of right. I always 
felt how wonderful it was that he should have had the per- 
ception of what to do so quickly. That is really the wonder 
of it, it is so much easier to follow than to lead." 

Miss Sellar, a friend in Edinburgh, who knew him when 
he was a Tommy there, writes: 

"I have been so truly grieved to hear from Mrs. Haig 
Ferguson of the great sorrow that has come to you. I 
have so vivid a recollection of your son and of a remark 
he made to me with the simplicity of unconscious heroism. 
I was asking about the motive that had brought him to 
enter our Army and he said that while doing hospital work 
— was it with the Belgians — he realized how terrific the 
forces arrayed against the Allies were, and how perfect the 
organization, and he could no longer keep out of it, and 
this with the treble excuse — that he was already doing 
splendid work, that he was of a different nationality, and 
that one little suspected, at the time, that he had a weak 
heart. But the instinct of sacrifice is too strong to a great- 
souled nature to be denied. With your sorrow must be 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 399 

mixed great pride and great thankfulness. This War has 
been a terrible testing time — from first to last to him it was 
the nobly seized opportunity of showing the greatness of 
his nature. I am proud to think that for a time he was in 
one of our regiments, and that our men had the opportu- 
nity of coming in contact with such a character." 

Beresford Melville, Chief Press Censor of England dur- 
ing the War, writes: 

"I remember him well, his fine early dash to help us in 
our early difficulties, and his excellent military record, and 
his cheery optimism when I saw him in convalescence. 
You must indeed be proud — but Oh! how sad!" 

From "The Harvard Alumni Bulletin" May 13, 1920: 

CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR., '09. 

Editor, Harvard Alumni Bulletin: 

The rare privilege of viewing at close-hand the mar- 
vellous courage of Caspar Henry Burton, Jr., during his 
last illness was given only to his immediate family, close 
friends, and his physicians. Never did a patient win the 
hearts of his attending physicians through an exhibition 
of pure pluck more than did this gallant Harvard soldier, 
the latest to join the already large group of Harvard 
Dead. 

I wish to take this opportunity of letting "Cap's" 
former classmates and friends know a little of the fearless 
courage possessed by him. It will be remembered that 
Burton spent one year in the Harvard Medical School 
after his graduation from College in 1909. At the end of 
that year he developed a septic sore throat which was fol- 
lowed by an attack of acute rheumatic fever, in the course 



400 LETTERS OF 

of which his heart became affected. He showed the first of 
his remarkable pluck, which was to stand him in such good 
stead later, by the way he met this heart trouble; for he 
remained in bed flat on his back for almost three months 
in order to rest up his heart. As he so characteristically 
said, so many times, "I know just enough medicine to 
know how to treat my own heart right." Shortly after this, 
he went to Labrador with Grenfell and worked like any- 
body else, never mentioning his heart trouble. He never 
refused to do the hardest type of physical work. 

At the outbreak of the war he enlisted in the British 
Army as a "Tommy" and after one year of the hardest 
kind of training was promoted to the rank of second lieu- 
tenant. It was grimly amusing to hear him tell how he 
hoodwinked and talked down the objections of various 
grades of army doctors who wanted to throw him out on 
account of his heart. 

That he had many such experiences can be readily under- 
stood when it is remembered that during his service in the 
British Army he was in seven different hospitals, a list of 
which follows: the Oxford Hospital, the Edinburgh Hos- 
pital, a casualty clearing station near the front in France 
where he was detained two weeks owing to the severity of 
his chest wounds, the Duchess of Westminster Hospital at 
Le Touquet, the London Hospital, the Princess Christian 
Hospital, and the Reading Military Hospital. In fact he 
was almost continuously in the hospitals from May, 191 7, 
until September, 1917. 

When the United States entered the war, "Cap" again 
showed the stuff that was in him by resigning his com- 
mission as second lieutenant in the 4th King's (Liverpool) 
Regiment and seeking to enter the Army of his own 
country. "With a chest full of junk and a heart that was 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 401 

not working right," to use his own phrase, he applied for 
examination before an American Army doctor. After a 
long and stormy session, "Cap" emerged victorious, sim- 
ply because, as he said, " I knew more about hearts than the 
fellow who examined me." He received a commission as 
first lieutenant and was assigned to the headquarters of the 
Second Army Corps. He served throughout the rest of the 
war without complaining, although he suffered almost con- 
tinuously with his breathing, a fact of which no one knew 
until after his discharge in March, 191 9. 

I do not believe there is a finer display of courage than 
"Cap" Burton's grit in going through the entire war in 
the service of two countries with a damaged heart which 
was made decidedly worse, not only by the hardships of 
army life, but also by his mutilating wounds of the lungs; 
all of this hastened his end. It can be truly said that Cas- 
par Henry Burton, Jr., sacrificed his heart and thereby his 
life for his country. 

His Physician, 
J. Victor Greenebaum, '08, M.D. '11. 

Part of an address given by Father Powell on Good 
Friday on the Sixth Word from the Cross: 

IT IS FINISHED 

It is but a few days ago that a friend of ours whom some 
of you knew, Caspar Burton, a man of thirty-odd, fell 
asleep in Christ. Life had often seemed to him but a sad 
and evil thing. He thought that he had accomplished noth- 
ing. He thought that everything to which he had set 
his hand had failed, and yet now his life is seen by us, 
his friends, to have been a conspicuous and triumphant 
success. 



402 LETTERS OF 

So distinguished a person as Dr. Grenfell, wherever he 
goes, refers to the astonishing work that Caspar Burton 
did for men in Labrador, how he Hved there a life of hard- 
ship, a life of suffering and of endurance, a life indeed of 
utter self-forgetfulness. It is true that he often did think of 
himself. He always considered himself to be selfish, some- 
times even to those who loved him best he seemed to be so, 
but it is true that in his greater moments he entirely forgot 
himself, and those greater moments made by far the larger 
part of his life in latter years. 

When the war broke out there was no hesitation. There 
was no waiting. He saw his duty clearly. He must take 
sides. He had no doubt about what he ought to do, and at 
first, I think I am right in saying that he went in the only 
way that seemed possible, as a member of the Red Cross. 
But quickly he understood that he must fight, and to 
understand that was for him equivalent to a decision. He 
enlisted as an English Tommy. Then there followed the 
training, the endless marches and tramps, carrying eighty 
or ninety pounds on his back, the bunking with the English 
privates, the sharing of their entire life, shirking nothing, 
doing it all with amazing courage, playing it as whole- 
heartedly as in former years he had played golf or tramped 
after game in the Canadian woods. 

Then he was wounded. Most men would have been 
entirely incapacitated and would have felt that they had 
done their full duty, but not so this man. As soon as 
America came into the war he must fight with his own 
countrymen, and with a failing heart, with lungs still full 
of shrapnel, as we learned afterwards, he faked symptoms 
so that American Army doctors should not turn him 
down. 

When the war ended he came home and started in busi- 



CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 403 

ness, a thing that naturally he loathed, but he had a clear 
vision of duty. Then soon followed sixteen weeks of in- 
tolerable suffering, all borne without a complaint, sixteen 
weeks of horrible pain under the microscopic gaze of friends 
who came from far and wide to see him. Always he played 
the game, always pretending that it was less than it really 
was. The nearest he ever came to crying out was once when 
his father came into the room, and presently, with a smile, 
he remarked in a casual way, "I hate to say it. Dad, but I 
think I could stand it better if you would go out of the 
room." It added to the pain having one whom he loved see 
his suffering. 

Apparent failure is part of the cup that we may all have 
to drink. Christ on Calvary seemed to those who watched 
a failure. His whole life must have seemed to His friends 
a failure. So it was with our friend. But in his own way 
and measure, like Christ, he died that others might 
live. 

Let this last letter come as a benediction from the great- 
hearted pastor and prelate, His Grace, the Archbishop of 
York: 

Largie Castle, 
Tayinloan, Argyll, 

8 April, 1920. 

Dear Burton, 

I AM here for a few days' rest and have just heard of your 
great sorrow. Please let me send you, and through you 
to Mrs. Burton and Spence, my heartfelt sympathy with 
you. The pathos of it all comes home to me when I remem- 
ber all the loving care you had for your boy during the 
War. But he was at the post of honour at a great time: so 
his life has not been lived in vain : and now God will perfect 



404 CASPAR HENRY BURTON, JR. 

it and train it for still higher service. May He give to you 
and Mrs. Burton strength and faith and hope. . . . 
Yours in sincerest sympathy, 

Cosmo Ebor. 

Caspar himself must end this volume of his letters. Just 
before going into action one night he wrote to Mother, 
"Death doesn't seem as dreadful to me as failure to do 
whatever job you are given to do." 



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